


Katrina, Harry, and the Goblet of Fire

by Childhood_Dreams



Series: Katrina and The Boy Who Lived [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2018-12-01 16:00:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 58,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11489796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Childhood_Dreams/pseuds/Childhood_Dreams
Summary: Back to Hogwarts for year 4! Who will win the TriWizard Tournament? Which boy will take Kat to the Yule Ball? Harry? Cedric? Or someone else? Will Voldemort succeed in his scheme to return to his body? Find out in this next installment!





	1. Not a Chapter

Hey everyone! Just wanted to get this next cover pic/description up quickly before I started delving into this 4th book. Don't worry! The first chapter will be up soon :)


	2. The Riddle House

3rd Person POV

The villagers of Little Hangleton still called it 'the Riddle House', even though it had been many years since the Riddle family had lived there. It stood on a hill overlooking the village, some of its windows boarded, tiles missing from its roof, and ivy spreading unchecked over its face. Once a fine-looking manor, and easily the largest and grandest building for miles around, the Riddle House was now damp, derelict and unoccupied.

The Little Hangletons all agreed that the old house was 'creepy'. Half a century ago, something strange and horrible had happened there, something that the older inhabitants of the village still liked to discuss when topics for gossip were scarce. The story had been picked over so many times, and had been embroidered in so many places, that nobody was quite sure what the truth was any more. Every version of the tale, however, started in the same place: fifty years before, at daybreak on a fine summer's morning, when the Riddle House had still been well kept and impressive, and a maid had entered the drawing room to find all three Riddles dead.

The maid had run screaming down the hill into the village, and roused as many people as she could.

"Lying there with their eyes wide open! Cold as ice! Still in their dinner things!"

The police were summoned, and the whole of Little Hangleton had seethed with shocked curiosity and ill-disguised excitement. Nobody wasted their breath pretending to feel very sad about the Riddles, for they had been most unpopular. Elderly Mr and Mrs Riddle had been rich, snobbish and rude, and their grown-up son, Tom, had been even more so. All the villagers cared about was the identity of their murderer – plainly, three apparently healthy people did not all drop dead of natural causes on the same night.

The Hanged Man, the village pub, did a roaring trade that night; the whole village had turned out to discuss the murders. They were rewarded for leaving their firesides when the Riddles' cook arrived dramatically in their midst, and announced to the suddenly silent pub that a man called Frank Bryce had just been arrested.

"Frank!" cried several people. "Never!"

Frank Bryce was the Riddles' gardener. He lived alone in a run-down cottage in the Riddle House grounds. Frank had come back from the war with a very stiff leg and a great dislike of crowds and loud noises, and had been working for the Riddles ever since.

There was a rush to buy the cook drinks, and hear more details.

"Always thought he was odd," she told the eagerly listening villagers, after her fourth sherry. "Unfriendly, like. I'm sure if I've offered him a cuppa once, I've offered it a hundred times. Never wanted to mix, he didn't."

"Ah, now," said a woman at the bar, "he had a hard war, Frank, he likes the quiet life. That's no reason to –"

"Who else had a key to the back door, then?" barked the cook. "There's been a spare key hanging in the gardener's cottage far back as I can remember! Nobody forced the door last night! No broken windows! All Frank had to do was creep up to the big house while we was all sleeping ..."

The villagers exchanged dark looks.

"I always thought he had a nasty look about him, right enough," grunted a man at the bar.

"War turned him funny, if you ask me," said the landlord.

"Told you I wouldn't like to get on the wrong side of Frank, didn't I, Dot?" said an excited woman in the corner.

"Horrible temper," said Dot, nodding fervently, "I remember, when he was a kid ..."

By the following morning, hardly anyone in Little Hangleton doubted that Frank Bryce had killed the Riddles.

But over in the neighbouring town of Great Hangleton, in the dark and dingy police station, Frank was stubbornly repeating, again and again, that he was innocent, and that the only person he had seen near the house on the day of the Riddles' deaths had been a teenage boy, a stranger, dark-haired and pale. Nobody else in the village had seen any such boy, and the police were quite sure that Frank had invented him.

Then, just when things were looking very serious for Frank, the report on the Riddles' bodies came back and changed everything.

The police had never read an odder report. A team of doctors had examined the bodies, and had concluded that none of the Riddles had been poisoned, stabbed, shot, strangled, suffocated or (as far as they could tell) harmed at all. In fact, the report continued, in a tone of unmistakable bewilderment, the Riddles all appeared to be in perfect health – apart from the fact that they were all dead. The doctors did note (as though determined to find something wrong with the bodies) that each of the Riddles had a look of terror upon his or her face – but as the frustrated police said, whoever heard of three people being frightened to death?

As there was no proof that the Riddles had been murdered at all, the police were forced to let Frank go. The Riddles were buried in the Little Hangleton churchyard, and their graves remained objects of curiosity for a while. To everyone's surprise, and amidst a cloud of suspicion, Frank Bryce returned to his cottage in the grounds of the Riddle House.

''S'far as I'm concerned, he killed them, and I don't care what the police say," said Dot in the Hanged Man. "And if he had any decency, he'd leave here, knowing as how we knows he did it."

But Frank did not leave. He stayed to tend the garden for the next family who lived in the Riddle House, and then the next – for neither family stayed long. Perhaps it was partly because of Frank that each new owner said there was a nasty feeling about the place, which, in the absence of inhabitants, started to fall into disrepair.

*************************************

Katrina's POV

Hermione and I rolled into bed exhausted after the day we'd had. When gone into the city, had lunch in the park, went for a swim, and then stayed up late playing wizards chess.

I looked over at Drake; who was already curled up on his makeshift bed in the corner of Hermione's bedroom, and sighed sleepily as I watched small streams of smoke rise into the air as the little dragon huffed in his sleep. I lay next to Hermione and watched Drake's scales change color in his sleep until I fell my own eyelids shut tight.

I was in the midst of a wonderful dream where I soared through the air riding Buckbeak with my father. Then suddenly everything changed.

I looked around trying to see through the inky black of my new surroundings but was unable to see a thing. I jumped as I heard a rustling movement from behind me and turned around just in time to see a candle being lit by a strange old man I had never seen before.

I watched curiously as he limped downstairs into the kitchen to refill his water bottle with hot water. As he stood at the sink, filling the kettle, he looked out of the window towards a large house at the top of the hill. I followed his gaze to see lights glimmering in its upper windows.

I continued to observe as the old man put down the kettle, hurried back upstairs to change clothes, then came back down and removed a rusty old key from its hook by the door. He picked up his walking stick, which was propped against the wall, and set off into the night.

The man paused at the front door before limping around to the back of the house until he reached a door almost completely hidden by ivy, took out the old key, put it into the lock and opened the door noiselessly.

He had let himself into a cavernous kitchen. He seemed to know his way around and he groped his way around the house until he reached the hall, which was a little lighter owing to the large mullioned windows either side of the front door, and started to climb the stairs.

On the landing, the old man turned right and I saw that at the very end of the passage, a door stood ajar and a flickering light shone through the gap, casting a long sliver of gold across the black floor. The man edged closer and closer, grasping his walking stick firmly. Several feet from the entrance, the two of us were able to see a narrow slice of the room beyond.

The fire had been lit in the grate and the man stopped moving as we both listened intently, for a man's voice spoke within the room; it sounded timid and fearful.

"There is a little more in the bottle, my Lord, if you are still hungry."

"Later," said a second voice. This, too, belonged to a man – but it was strangely high-pitched, and cold as a sudden blast of icy wind. Something about that voice made the sparse hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "Move me closer to the fire, Wormtail."

I gasped in my sleep as I recognized the nickname for Peter Pettigrew - the man who had been responsible for the murder of my mother and best friend's parents as well as the reason my father had spent the last 15 years of his life in Azkaban prison.

There came the chink of a bottle being put down upon some hard surface, and then the dull scraping noise of a heavy chair being dragged across the floor. I caught a glimpse of a small man, his back to the door, pushing the chair into place. He was wearing a long black cloak, and there was a bald patch at the back of his head. Then he disappeared from sight again.

"Where is Nagini?" said the cold voice.

"I-I don't know, my Lord," said Wormtail nervously. "She set out to explore the house, I think ..."

"You will milk her before we retire, Wormtail," said the second voice. I frowned as something about it seemed familiar but I couldn't place who it belonged to. "I will need feeding in the night. The journey has tired me greatly."

There was a pause, and then Wormtail spoke again.

"My Lord, may I ask how long we are going to stay here?"

"A week," said the cold voice. "Perhaps longer. The place is moderately comfortable, and the plan cannot proceed yet. It would be foolish to act before the Quidditch World Cup is over."

"The - the Quidditch World Cup, my Lord?" said Wormtail. "Forgive me, but - I do not understand - why should we wait until the World Cup is over?"

"Because, fool, at this very moment wizards are pouring into the country from all over the world, and every meddler from the Ministry of Magic will be on duty, on the watch for signs of unusual activity, checking and double-checking identities. They will be obsessed with security, lest the Muggles notice anything. So we wait."

"Your Lordship is still determined, then?" Wormtail said quietly.

"Certainly I am determined, Wormtail." There was a note of menace in the cold voice now.

Another slight pause followed - and then Wormtail spoke, the words tumbling from him in a rush, as though he was forcing himself to say this before he lost his nerve.

"Could it not be done without Harry Potter or the girl, my Lord? Surely you could find others!"

Another pause, more protracted, and then -

"How many times must we go over this, Wormatil. It has to be her and without Harry Potter?" breathed the second voice softly. "I see..."

"My Lord, I do not say this out of concern for the boy!" said Wormtail, his voice rising squeakily. "The boy is nothing to me, nothing at all! Nor is the girl! It is merely that if we were to use another witch or wizard - any wizard - the thing could be done so much more quickly! If you allowed me to leave you for a short while - you know that I can disguise myself most effectively - I could be back here in as little as two days with a suitable replacement for the boy -"

"I could use another wizard," said the second voice softly, "that is true..."

"My Lord, it makes sense," said Wormtail, sounding thoroughly relieved now, "laying hands on Harry Potter would be so difficult, he is so well protected - it will be difficult enough to get our hands on the girl!"

"And so you volunteer to go and fetch me a substitute? I wonder...perhaps the task of nursing me has become wearisome for you, Wormtail? Could this suggestion of abandoning the plan be nothing more than an attempt to desert me?"

"My Lord! I-I have no wish to leave you, none at all -"

"Do not lie to me!" hissed the second voice. "I can always tell, Wormtail! You are regretting that you ever returned to me. I revolt you. I see you flinch when you look at me, feel you shudder when you touch me..."

"No! My devotion to your Lordship -"

"Your devotion is nothing more than cowardice. You would not be here if you had anywhere else to go. How am I to survive without you, when I need feeding every few hours? Who is to milk Nagini?"

"But you seem so much stronger, my Lord -"

"Liar," breathed the second voice. "I am no stronger, and a few days alone would be enough to rob me of the little health I have regained under your clumsy care. Silence!"

Wormtail, who had been spluttering incoherently, fell silent at once. For a few seconds, I could hear nothing but the fire crackling. Then the second man spoke once more, in a whisper that was almost a hiss.

"I have my reasons for using the boy, as I have already explained to you, and I will use no other. The girl, of course, is essential, and cannot be replaced - nor would I want to replace her. The amount of power she holds will only serve to strengthen me further. I have waited thirteen years. A few more months will make no difference. As for the protection surrounding them, I believe my plan will be effective. All that is needed is a little courage from you, Wormtail - courage you will find, unless you wish to feel the full extent of Lord Voldemort's wrath -" 

I squirmed underneath the bed covers as my terrible suspicion was confirmed.

"My Lord, I must speak!" said Wormtail, panic in his voice now. "All through our journey I have gone over the plan in my head - my Lord, Bertha Jorkins's disappearance will not go unnoticed for long, and if we proceed, if I curse -"

"If?" whispered Voldemort. "If? If you follow the plan, Wormtail, the Ministry need never know that anyone else has disappeared. You will do it quietly, and without fuss; I only wish that I could do it myself, but in my present condition...come, Wormtail, one more obstacle removed and our path to the girl and Harry Potter is clear. I am not asking you to do it alone. By that time, my faithful servant will have rejoined us -"

"I am a faithful servant," said Wormtail, the merest trace of sullenness in his voice.

"Wormtail, I need somebody with brains, somebody whose loyalty has never wavered, and you, unfortunately, fulfil neither requirement."

"I found you," said Wormtail, and there was definitely a sulky edge to his voice now. "I was the one who found you. I brought you Bertha Jorkins."

"That is true," said Voldemort, sounding amused. "A stroke of brilliance I would not have thought possible from you, Wormtail - though, if truth be told, you were not aware how useful she would be when you caught her, were you?"

"I-I thought she might be useful, my Lord -"

"Liar," said Voldemort again, the cruel amusement more pronounced than ever. "However, I do not deny that her information was invaluable. Without it, I could never have formed our plan, and for that, you will have your reward, Wormtail. I will allow you to perform an essential task for me, one that many of my followers would give their right hands to perform..."

"R-really, my Lord? What -?" Wormtail sounded terrified again.

"Ah, Wormtail, you don't want me to spoil the surprise? Your part will come at the very end...but I promise you, you will have the honour of being just as useful as Bertha Jorkins."

"You...you..." Wormtail's voice sounded suddenly hoarse, as though his mouth had gone very dry. "You...are going...to kill me, too?"

"Wormtail, Wormtail," said the cold voice silkily, "why would I kill you? I killed Bertha because I had to. She was fit for nothing after my questioning, quite useless. In any case, awkward questions would have been asked if she had gone back to the Ministry with the news that she had met you on her holidays. Wizards who are supposed to be dead would do well not to run into Ministry of Magic witches at wayside inns..."

Wormtail muttered something so quietly that I could not hear it, but it made Voldemort laugh - an entirely mirthless laugh, cold as his speech.

"We could have modified her memory? But Memory Charms can be broken by a powerful wizard, as I proved when I questioned her. It would be an insult to her memory not to use the information I extracted from her, Wormtail. One more curse...my faithful servant at Hogwarts...the girl and Harry Potter are as good as mine, Wormtail. It is decided. There will be no more argument. But quiet...I think I hear Nagini..."

And then Voldemort's voice changed. He started making hissing noises but I to me, they sounded like normal speech. I felt my blood freeze as I heard Nagini inform Voldemort about the old man standing outside the door. I had a feeling I knew what would come next and I didn't like it one bit.

Nagini was slithering towards him along the dark corridor floor, her undulating body cutting a wide, curving track through the thick dust on the floor, coming closer and closer - the snake was level with him, and then, incredibly, miraculously, it was passing; it was following Voldemort's cold voice beyond the door, and in seconds, the tip of her diamond-patterned tail had vanished through the gap.

"Nagini has interesting news, Wormtail," Voldemort said, switching back to English.

"In-indeed, my Lord?" said Wormtail.

"Indeed, yes," said the voice. "According to Nagini, there is an old Muggle standing right outside this room, listening to every word we say."

If my eyes hadn't already been closed, I would have shut them tight as I heard footsteps, and then the sound of the door of the room flinging wide open and hitting the opposite wall.

"Invite him inside, Wormtail. Where are your manners?"

The cold voice was coming from the ancient armchair before the fire, but I couldn't actually see Voldemort. Nagini, on the other hand, was curled up on the rotting hearth-rug, like some horrible travesty of a pet dog.

Wormtail beckoned the old man into the room and I watched him limp over the threshold.

The fire was the only source of light in the room; it was casting long, spidery shadows upon the walls. I stared at the back of the armchair; the man inside it seemed to be even smaller than Wormtail, for I couldn't even see the back of his head.

"You heard everything, Muggle?" said the cold voice.

"What's that you're calling me?" said the frightened old man defiantly.

I am calling you a Muggle," said the voice coolly. "It means that you are not a wizard."

"I don't know what you mean by wizard," said the man, his voice growing steadier. "All I know is I've heard enough to interest the police tonight, I have. You've done murder and you're planning more! And I'll tell you this, too," he added, on a sudden inspiration, "my wife knows I'm up here, and if I don't come back -"

"You have no wife," said the cold voice, very quietly. "Nobody knows you are here. You told nobody that you were coming. Do not lie to Lord Voldemort, Muggle, for he knows...he always knows..."

"Is that right?" said the man roughly. "Lord, is it? Well, I don't think much of your manners, my Lord. Turn round and face me like a man, why don't you?"

"But I am not a man, Muggle," said the cold voice, barely audible now over the crackling of the flames. "I am much, much more than a man. However...why not? I will face you...Wormtail, come turn my chair around."

Wormtail gave a whimper.

"You heard me, Wormtail."

Slowly, with his face screwed up, as though he would rather have done anything than approach his master and the hearth-rug where Nagini lay, Wormtail walked forwards and began to turn the chair. The snake lifted her ugly triangular head and hissed slightly as the legs of the chair snagged on the rug.

And then the chair was facing the old man, and he could see what was sitting in it; though my vision was still blocked. His walking stick fell to the floor with a clatter. He opened his mouth and let out a scream. He was screaming so loudly that he never heard the words the thing in the chair spoke, as it raised a wand. There was a flash of green light, a rushing sound, and I watched in horror as the old man crumpled. He was dead before he hit the floor.

I woke with a start as I felt my body roll of the bed and hit the floor of Hermione's room with a loud thump.

In-line Comments

\- those villagers need to get a life and stop being so quick to judge someone when there's absolutely no evidence that he did anything wrong. I mean come on! Clearly they've never heard of innocent until proven guilty. I hope they were properly shamed when he died; but I doubt they felt much...ugh

\- I love how he totally just told Wormtail that he was gonna be losing his hand without Wormtail knowing he was being completely serious - but he made it sound so honorable. Nothing honorable about what happened!

(AN - hope y'all enjoyed this first chapter! Sorry it's a bit short but I did try my best to incorporate Kat into this part without giving anything away to you as the audience as well as to Kat as she sees what's happening. Unfortunately for her, she had to remain in the dark for just a little longer lol - well I guess it depends on your view whether it's unfortunate or a blessing haha)


	3. Back to the Burrow

(This and the next chapter will be shorter chapters but don't worry, I'll hopefully be able to post them quicker and once the book starts getting to the interesting parts I'll have some longer chapters for y'all!)

Katrina's POV

I woke up with a scream as the scar on my collar bone blazed white hot. Hermione shot out of bed and stared down at me bleary-eyed.

"Wha-what's going on?" She cried out as she helped me to stand. We went downstairs and made ourselves hot chocolate before going back upstairs to sit on her bed. I told her everything I could remember.

I tried to recall what I had been dreaming about before I had awoken. It had seemed so real...there had been two people I knew, and one I didn't...I concentrated hard, frowning, trying to remember...

The dim picture of a darkened room came to me...there had been a snake on a hearth-rug...a small man called Peter, nicknamed Wormtail...and a cold, high voice...the voice of Lord Voldemort. I felt as though an ice cube had slipped down into my stomach at the very thought...

I closed my eyes tightly and tried to remember what Voldemort had looked like, but it was impossible...all I knew was that at the moment when Voldemort's chair had swung around I had felt a spasm of horror which had awoken me...or had that been the pain in my scar?

And who had the old man been? For there had definitely been an old man; I had watched him fall to the ground. It was all becoming confused; I put my face into my hands, blocking out Hermione's bedroom, trying to hold on to the picture of that dimly lit room, but it was like trying to keep water in my cupped hands; the details were now trickling away as fast as I tried to hold on to them...Voldemort and Wormtail had been talking about someone they had killed, though I could not remember the name...and they had been plotting to kill someone else...Harry!

I took my face out of my hands, opened my eyes and stared at Hermione in fear. I couldn't lose my best friend!

Hermione rubbed her hand in circles on my back as I ran a finger over my scar again. It wasn't the pain that bothered me; I was no stranger to pain and injury. I had been beaten and bruised countless times by the girls at the Orphanage growing up - not to mention falling fifty feet from an airborne broomstick last year - though thankfully, Cedric had been there to catch me. I blushed as I remembered this.

I was used to bizarre accidents and injuries; they were unavoidable if you attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and had a knack for attracting a lot of trouble like Harry and I did!

No, the thing that was bothering me was that the last time my scar had hurt me, it had been because Voldemort had been close by...but Voldemort couldn't be here, now...the idea of Voldemort lurking in the area surrounding Hermione's place was absurd!

"Kat, this is really serious...I think you should write to Professor Dumbledore! And I'll go and check Common Magical Ailments and Afflictions...Maybe there's something in there about curse scars..."

I stared out of the window at the inky, blue-black sky. I doubted very much whether a book could help me now. As far as I knew, Harry and I were the only two living people to have survived a curse like Voldemort's; it was highly unlikely, therefore, that our symptoms would be listed in Common Magical Ailments and Afflictions. As for informing my grandfather, I had no idea where he went during the summer holidays.

I amused myself for a moment, picturing Dumbledore, with his long silver beard, full-length wizard's robes and pointed hat, stretched out on a beach somewhere, rubbing suntan lotion into his long crooked nose. Wherever Dumbledore was, though, I was sure that Salazar would be able to find him; my owl had never yet failed to deliver a letter to anyone, even without an address. But what would I write?

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

Sorry to bother you, but my scar hurt this morning.

Yours sincerely,

Katrina Black.

Even inside my head the words sounded stupid.

I kneaded my forehead with my knuckles. What I really wanted (and it felt almost shameful to admit it to myself) was someone like – someone like a parent: an adult wizard whose advice I could ask without feeling stupid, someone who cared about me, who had had experience of Dark Magic...I was sure Severus might know or maybe Lupin, but for someone reason it just didn't seem like a good option. Lupin had enough problems of his own to deal with and Sev would think I was being silly.

And then the solution came to me. It was so simple, and so obvious, that I. couldn't believe it had taken so long – Sirius. I did have a parent now who I could talk to!

"I know, I'll write to Sirius, Hermione! I'm sure my father will be able to help!"

I leapt up from the bed, hurried across the room and sat down at Hermione's desk; I pulled a piece of parchment towards me, loaded an eagle-feather quill with ink, and wrote:

Dear Father,

\- then paused, wondering how best to phrase my problem, and still marvelling at the fact that I hadn't thought of Sirius straight away. But then, perhaps it wasn't so surprising – after all, I had only found out that Sirius was my father two months ago.

For one glorious hour, Harry and I had believed that he leaving the Dursleys at last and I would be with my father, because Sirius had offered us a home once his name had been cleared. But the chance had been snatched away from us - Wormtail had escaped before we could take him to the Ministry of Magic, and Sirius had had to flee for his life.

Harry, Hermione, and I had helped him escape on the back of a Hippogriff called Buckbeak - who I had been surprised to learn contained a part of my departed mother's spirit inside - and since then, Sirius had been on the run. The home I might have had if Wormtail had not escaped had been haunting me all summer. Fortunately I had Hermione to keep me company and was able to focus on that most of the time.

I had received two letters from Sirius since the summer had started. Both had been delivered, not by owls (as was usual with wizards) but by large, brightly coloured, tropical birds. Salazar had not approved of these flashy intruders; he had been most reluctant to allow them to drink from his water tray before flying off again. I, on the other hand, had liked them; they put me in mind of palm trees and white sand, and I hoped that wherever my father was, (Sirius never said, in case the letters were intercepted) he was enjoying himself. Somehow, I found it hard to imagine Dementors surviving for long in bright sunlight; perhaps that was why Sirius had gone south. Sirius' letters sounded cheerful, and in both of them he had reminded me to call on him if ever I needed to. Well, I needed to now, all right...

Dear Father,

Thanks for your last letter, that bird was enormous, it could hardly get through Hermione's window. Things are great here! Hermione's parents have been ever so kind to me and we spend our time exploring the city or at the park. Did you hear about Harry though? Apparently his cousin's diet isn't going too well. His aunt found that pig smuggling doughnuts into his room yesterday! Hahaha! They told him they'd have to cut his pocket money if he keeps doing it - he's so spoiled! I hope they DO! I'm OK, but a weird thing happened this morning, though. My scar hurt again. Last time that happened it was because Voldemort was at Hogwarts. But I don't reckon he can be anywhere near me now, can he? Do you know if curse scars sometimes hurt years afterwards? I'll send this with Salazar when he gets back, he's off hunting at the moment. Say hello to Buckbeak for me please! I miss him! Did you know a bit of mom's soul is inside him! Grandfather told me at the end of last year! I can't believe it! I feel so bad for not knowing! Do you think she hates me for not being able to work it out earlier?

Katrina

Yes, I thought, that looked all right - a little wordy but if you couldn't ramble to your own father, than who could you ramble to, right? There was no point putting in the dream, I didn't want it to look as though I was too worried. I folded the parchment up and laid it aside on Hermione's desk, ready for when Salazar returned. Then I got to my feet, stretched and opened my trunk. While I had been writing, the sun had come up and it was now time to get dressed before going down to breakfast.

"Surprise!" I blinked in shock as I walked into the kitchen to hear Hermione and her parents shouting excitedly.

"What are you talking about?"

"Katrina! It's you're birthday! Don't tell me you forgot!" Hermione ran over to me and squeezed me tightly.

Whoops, I guess I had! Which means it was also Harry's birthday! Oh my Merlin! As we ate breakfast, I asked Hermione's parents if Hermione and I baked Harry a cake in their kitchen and sent him so food as well - we all knew he wasn't being fed much by the Dursley's! They said it would be ok so Hermione and I spent the afternoon in the kitchen doing our best to bake a cake. It was a little lopsided but it tasted great!

Since I'd sent Salazar off with the note to my father, I called Drake over and asked if he could please deliver Harry's cake along with the a large box stuffed full of sugar-free snacks (Hermione's parents were dentists). Earlier this summer Hermione and I had discovered that Drake could use telepathy to talk to us inside our minds. How cool is that!

That day I received four superb birthday cakes myself, one each from Ron, Hermione and her parent's, Hagrid and my father. Hermione and I put them in the fridge and took the bus down to the park. It was one of the best birthdays I'd ever had, the only one better was when Minnie had shown up with my Hogwarts letter!

*************************************

The weeks went by as Hermione and I continued to enjoy our time together without the boys. We were sitting on Hermione's bed playing a game of exploding snap when Salazar came flying in through the open windo, a note clamped in his beak. It was from Ron.

Dear Mr and Mrs Granger,

The final of the Quidditch World Cup takes place next Monday night, and my husband, Arthur, has just managed to get prime tickets through his connections at the Department of Magical Games and Sports. I do hope you will allow us to take Kat and Hermione to the match, as this really is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity; Britain hasn't hosted the Cup for thirty years and tickets are extremely hard to come by. We would of course be glad to have the two girls stay for the remainder of the summer holidays, and to see them safely onto the train back to school. It would be best for Kat to send us your answer as quickly as possible in the normal way, because the Muggle postman has never delivered to our house, and I am not sure he even knows where it is.

Hoping to see Hermione and Kat soon,

Yours sincerely,

Molly Weasley

P.S. I do hope we've put enough stamps on.

I laughed at the last sentence, they'd definitely added enough stamps! Hermione and I looked at her parents with pleading eyes.

"Please, Mom and Dad, can we go?"

"Of course, dear! Sounds like fun! But you better start getting packed if you want to be ready in time for tomorrow!"

We raced back up to Hermione's room where I jotted down a quick response, gave it to Salazar, and then joined Hermione as we started throwing our stuff into our trunks.

At twelve o'clock next day, Hermione and I stepped through the fireplace and landed at the Burrow.

"Hermione! Katrina! There you are dears! Fred, George! Come down and help the girls carry their things up to Ginny's room, please!"

I smile at Mrs. Weasley and gave her a quick hug before we were joined by the two red-headed twins.

"Look Georgey! Our princess is back!"

"Come on Freddie, we can't let her strain herself, here m'lady, I'll take that!" I whacked George's head as he grinned, bowed and picked up my trunk. He just laughed and lead the way up the stairs to Ginny's room, where we would be staying.

Hermione, Ginny, and I spent that night laughing and talking as we lay on her bedroom floor. We'd spread some pillows and blankets down and were teaching Ginny how to play Muggle card games.

Before we went to bed, Ron came knocking and told us the good news. Harry would be coming to stay at the Burrow as well! Apparently, Mr. Weasley, Ron, Fred, and George were going to go get him from the Dursley's. I was so excited...and yet...nervous. Should I tell him about the dream I'd had?

On the one hand, he deserved to know that Voldemort might be trying to kill him - AGAIN, but on the other hand, it could have just been simply a dream and nothing more. In which case, they best solution would be to wait until there was more evidence. If there was the slightest hint it might not have just been a dream, then I would tell Harry but not till then. For now, I was going to enjoy the rest of my summer and have fun at the Quidditch World Cup!

*************************************

In-line Comments

\- of course her mother wouldn't hate her i would never write that she does!

\- she cant write "Dear Grandfather" since he still wants to keep it a secret for her safety

\- yes she and Harry have the same bday :p - he sends her a mini silver version of Buckbeak (like he did with Drake) to add to her charm bracelet :)


	4. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes

Katrina's POV

Hermione, Ginny, and I were sitting in her room the next afternoon laughing and talking when we suddenly heard two loud thumps from downstairs.

"That must be the boys arriving back from the Dursley's! I shouted excitedly as I dashed down the stairs with the others in tow. We arrived to see Fred and George helping Harry out of the fireplace.

"Did he eat it?" said Fred excitedly, holding out a hand to pull Harry to his feet.

"Yeah," said Harry, straightening up.

"Harry!" I cried out and ran over to my best friend and hugged him tightly.

"Kat! I'm so happy to...to...to see you!"

"What's wrong, Harry?" I asked as he looked and me and started stuttering.

"Nothing, you just...look a little different...um...I mean...you must have gotten taller or something." Harry blushed and turned to look at the twins. "So what was it that you gave to Dudley?"

"Ton-Tongue Toffee," said Fred brightly. "George and I invented them, we've been looking for someone to test them on all summer..."

The tiny kitchen exploded with laughter; I saw Harry look around and spot Bill and Charlie, the two eldest Weasley brothers.

"How're you doing, Harry?" said Charlie, grinning at him and holding out a large hand, which Harry shook.

Bill got to his feet, smiling, and also shook Harry's hand.

Before any of us could say anything else, there was a faint popping noise, and Mr Weasley appeared out of thin air at George's shoulder. He was looking angrier than I had ever seen him.

"That wasn't funny, Fred!" he shouted. "What on earth did you give that Muggle boy?"

"I didn't give him anything," said Fred, with another evil grin. "I just dropped it...it was his fault he went and ate it, I never told him to."

"You dropped it on purpose!" roared Mr Weasley. "You knew he'd eat it, you knew he was on a diet -"

"How big did his tongue get?" George asked eagerly.

"It was four foot long before his parents would let me shrink it!"

We all roared with laughter again. It was about time someone got back at Harry's horrible cousin!

"It isn't funny!" Mr Weasley shouted. "That sort of behaviour seriously undermines wizard–Muggle relations! I spend half my life campaigning against the mistreatment of Muggles, and my own sons –"

"We didn't give it to him because he was a Muggle!' said Fred indignantly.

"No, we gave it to him because he's a great bullying git," said George. "Isn't he, Harry?"

"Yeah, he is, Mr Weasley," said Harry earnestly.

"That's not the point!" raged Mr Weasley. "You wait until I tell your mother –"

"Tell me what?'" said a voice behind us.

Mrs Weasley had just entered the kitchen. She was a short, plump woman with a very kind face, though her eyes were presently narrowed with suspicion.

"Oh, hello, Harry dear," she said, spotting him and smiling. Then her eyes snapped back to her husband. "Tell me what, Arthur?"

Mr Weasley hesitated. I could tell that, however angry he was with Fred and George, he hadn't really intended to tell Mrs Weasley what had happened. There was a silence, while Mr Weasley eyed his wife nervously. In the silence, I saw Harry glance at Ginny and smile in greeting, which made her go scarlet – apparently she had been very taken with Harry ever since his first visit to the Burrow. I frowned at this, something about it turning my stomach over but I put it from my mind as Mrs. Weasley spoke again.

"Tell me what, Arthur?" She repeated, in a dangerous sort of voice.

"It's nothing, Molly," mumbled Mr Weasley, "Fred and George just – but I've had words with them –"

"What have they done this time?" said Mrs Weasley. "If it's got anything to do with Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes –"

"Why don't you show Harry where he's sleeping, Ron?" said Hermione.

"He knows where he's sleeping," said Ron. "In my room, he slept there last –"

"We can all go," said Hermione, pointedly.

"Oh," said Ron, finally catching on. "Right."

"Yeah, we'll come, too," said George –

"You stay where you are!" snarled Mrs Weasley.

Harry and Ron edged out of the kitchen, and Hermione, Ginny, and I followed them along the narrow hallway and up the rickety staircase that zig-zagged through the house to the upper stories.

"What are Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes?' Harry and I asked, as we climbed.

"Jinx!" I shouted happily as I punched his arm. It had been so long since I had been able to do that! Harry sent me a sideways grin as he held his hands up in surrender.

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all laughed as we waited for Ron to explain.

"Mum found this stack of order forms when she was cleaning Fred and George's room," said Ron quietly. "Great long price-lists for stuff they've invented. Joke stuff, you know. Fake wands and trick sweets, loads of stuff. It was brilliant, I never knew they'd been inventing all that..."

"We've been hearing explosions out of their room for ages, but we never thought they were actually making things," said Ginny, "we thought they just liked the noise."

"Only, most of the stuff – well, all of it, really – was a bit dangerous," said Ron, "and, you know, they were planning to sell it at Hogwarts to make some money, and Mum got mad at them. Told them they weren't allowed to make any more of it, and burnt all the order forms...she's furious at them anyway. They didn't get as many O.W.Ls as she expected."

O.W.Ls were Ordinary Wizarding Levels, the examinations Hogwarts students took at the age of fifteen.

"And then there was this big row," Ginny said, "because Mum wants them to go into the Ministry of Magic like Dad, and they told her all they want to do is open a joke-shop."

Just then, a door on the second landing opened, and a face poked out wearing horn-rimmed glasses and a very annoyed expression.

"Hi, Percy," said Harry.

"Oh, hello, Harry," said Percy. "I was wondering who was making all the noise. I'm trying to work in here, you know – I've got a report to finish for the office – and it's rather difficult to concentrate when people keep thundering up and down the stairs."

"We're not thundering," said Ron irritably. "We're walking. Sorry if we've disturbed the top-secret workings of the Ministry of Magic."

"What are you working on?" said Harry.

"A report for the Department of International Magical Co-operation," said Percy smugly. "We're trying to standardise cauldron thickness. Some of these foreign imports are just a shade too thin – leakages have been increasing at a rate of almost three per cent a year –"

"Um, that sounds...um, interesting, Percy," I said, trying to be kind. Percy looked at me and gave me a rare smile.

"That'll change the world, that report will," said Ron. "Front page of the Daily Prophet, I expect, cauldron leaks."

Percy went slightly pink.

"You might sneer, Ron," he said heatedly, "but unless some sort of international law is imposed we might well find the market flooded with flimsy, shallow-bottomed products which seriously endanger –"

"Yeah, yeah, all right," said Ron, and he started off upstairs again. Percy slammed his bedroom door shut. As we followed Ron up three more flights of stairs, shouts from the kitchen below echoed up to us. It sounded as though Mr Weasley had told Mrs Weasley about the toffees.

The room at the top of the house where Ron slept looked very similar to his side of the Gryffindor dorm room at Hogwarts. Posters of Ron's favourite Quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons, were whirling and waving on the walls and sloping ceiling, and the fishtank on the window-sill which had previously held frog-spawn now contained one extremely large frog. Ron's old rat, Scabbers, was here no more, but instead there was the tiny grey owl that had delivered Sirius's letter to Harry and I on the train at the end of last year. It was hopping up and down in a small cage, and twittering madly.

"Shut up, Pig," said Ron, edging his way between two of the four beds that had been squeezed into the room. "Fred and George are in here with us, because Bill and Charlie are in their room," he told Harry. "Percy gets to keep his room all to himself because he's got to work."

"Er – why are you calling that owl Pig?" Harry asked Ron.

"Because he's being stupid," said Ginny. "Its proper name is Pigwidgeon."

"Yeah, and that's not a stupid name at all,!" said Ron sarcastically. "Ginny named him," he explained to Harry. "She reckons it's sweet. And I tried to change it, but it was too late, he won't answer to anything else. So now he's Pig. I've got to keep him up here because he annoys Errol and Hermes. He annoys me, too, come to that."

Pigwidgeon zoomed happily around his cage, hooting shrilly. I knew Ron too well to take him seriously. He had moaned continually about his old rat Scabbers, but had been most upset when Hermione's cat, Crookshanks, appeared to have eaten him.

"Where's Crookshanks and Drake?" Harry asked Hermione and I.

"Out in the garden, I expect," she said. "They like chasing gnomes, they've never seen any before."

"Percy's enjoying work, then?" said Harry, sitting down on one of the beds and watching the Chudley Cannons zooming in and out of the posters on the ceiling.

"Enjoying it?" said Ron darkly. "I don't reckon he'd come home if Dad didn't make him. He's obsessed. Just don't get him onto the subject of his boss. According to Mr Crouch...as I was saying to Mr Crouch...Mr Crouch is of the opinion...Mr Crouch was telling me...They'll be announcing their engagement any day now."

I laughed as I sat down next to Harry, who looked at me with wide eyes as his cheeks flushed. "Have you had a good summer, Harry? Did you get our food parcels and everything?"

"Yeah, thanks a lot," said Harry. "They saved my life, those cakes! Did you like your birthday present?"

"I loved it! Thank you Harry! It looks just like Buckbeak!"

"I know. I was hoping that it might remind you of him since I couldn't exactly bring you the real Buckbeak..."

I hugged Harry tightly, not seeing his cheeks grow even redder.

"Speaking of Buckbeak, have you heard from –?" Ron began, but at a look from Hermione he fell silent. I knew Ron had been about to ask about Sirius. Ron and Hermione had been so deeply involved in helping Sirius escape from the Ministry of Magic that they were almost as concerned about my father as Harry and I were. However, discussing him in front of Ginny was a bad idea. Nobody but ourselves and Professor Dumbledore knew about how Sirius had escaped, or believed in his innocence.

"I think they've stopped arguing," said Hermione, to cover the awkward moment, because Ginny was looking curiously from Ron to Harry. "Shall we go down and help your mum with dinner?"

"Yeah, all right," said Ron. The five of us left Ron's room and went back downstairs, to find Mrs Weasley alone in the kitchen, looking extremely bad-tempered.

"We're eating out in the garden," she said when we came in. "There's just not room for eleven people in here. Could you take the plates outside, girls? Bill and Charlie are setting up the tables. Knives and forks, please, you two," she said to Ron and Harry, pointing her wand a little more vigorously than she had intended at a pile of potatoes in the sink, which shot out of their skins so fast that they ricocheted off the walls and ceilings.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," she snapped, now directing her wand at a dustpan, which hopped off the side and started skating across the floor, scooping up the potatoes. "Those two!" she burst out savagely, now pulling pots and pans out of a cupboard, and I knew she meant Fred and George. "I don't know what's going to happen to them, I really don't. No ambition, unless you count making as much trouble as they possibly can..."

She slammed a large copper saucepan down on the kitchen table and began to wave her wand around inside it. A creamy sauce poured from the wand tip as she stirred.

"It's not as though they haven't got brains," she continued irritably, taking the saucepan over to the stove and lighting it with a further poke of her wand, "but they're wasting them, and unless they pull themselves together soon, they'll be in real trouble. I've had more owls from Hogwarts about them than the rest put together. If they carry on the way they're going, they'll end up in front of the Improper Use of Magic Office."

Mrs Weasley jabbed her wand at the cutlery drawer, which shot open. Harry and Ron both jumped out of the way as several knives soared out of it, flew across the kitchen and began chopping the potatoes, which had just been tipped back into the sink by the dustpan.

"I don't know where we went wrong with them," said Mrs Weasley, putting down her wand and starting to pull out still more saucepans. "It's been the same for years, one thing after another, and they won't listen to – OH, NOT AGAIN!"

She had picked up her wand from the table, and it had emitted a loud squeak and turned into a giant rubber mouse.

"One of their fake wands again!" she shouted. "How many times have I told those two not to leave them lying around?"

She grabbed her real wand and turned around to find that the sauce on the stove was smoking.

"C'mon," Ron said hurriedly to us, seizing a handful of cutlery from the open drawer, "let's go and help Bill and Charlie."

We left Mrs Weasley, and headed out of the back door into the yard.

We had only gone a few paces when Hermione's bandy-legged, ginger cat Crookshanks and Drake came pelting out of the garden, chasing what looked like a muddy potato on legs. I giggled as I recognised it instantly as a gnome. Barely ten inches high, its horny little feet pattered very fast as it sprinted across the yard and dived headlong into one of the wellington boots that lay scattered around the door. I could hear the gnome chuckling madly as Crookshanks and Drake inserted a paw and a claw into the boot, trying to reach it. Meanwhile, a very loud crashing noise was coming from the other side of the house. The source of the commotion was revealed as we entered the garden and saw that Bill and Charlie both had their wands out, and were making two battered old tables fly high above the lawn, smashing into each other, each attempting to knock the other's out of the air. Fred and George were cheering and Ginny was laughing.

Bill's table caught Charlie's with a huge bang, and knocked one of its legs off. There was a clatter from overhead, and we all looked up to see Percy's head poking out of a window on the second floor.

"Will you keep it down?" he bellowed.

"Sorry, Perce," said Bill, grinning. "How're the cauldron bottoms coming on?"

"Very badly," said Percy peevishly, and he slammed the window shut again. Chuckling, Bill and Charlie directed the tables safely onto the grass, end to end, and then, with a flick of his wand, Bill reattached the table leg, and conjured tablecloths from nowhere.

By seven o'clock, the two tables were groaning under dishes and dishes of Mrs Weasley's excellent cooking, and the nine Weasleys, Harry, Hermione, and I were settling ourselves down to eat beneath a clear, deep-blue sky. I listened rather than talked, as I helped myself to chicken-and-ham pie, boiled potatoes and salad.

At the far end of the table, Percy was telling his father all about his report on cauldron bottoms.

"I've told Mr Crouch that I'll have it ready by Tuesday," Percy was saying pompously. "That's a bit sooner than he expected it, but I like to keep on top of things. I think he'll be grateful I've done it in good time. I mean, it's extremely busy in our department just now, what with all the arrangements for the World Cup. We're just not getting the support we need from the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Ludo Bagman –"

"I like Ludo," said Mr Weasley mildly. "He was the one who got us such good tickets for the Cup. I did him a bit of a favour: his brother, Otto, got into a spot of trouble – a lawnmower with unnatural powers – I smoothed the whole thing over."

"Oh, Bagman's likeable enough, of course ," said Percy dismissively, "but how he ever got to be Head of Department...when I compare him to Mr Crouch! I can't see Mr Crouch losing a member of our department and not trying to find out what's happened to them. You realise Bertha Jorkins has been missing for over a month now? Went on holiday to Albania and never came back?" My brows furrowed as I tried to remember where I'd heard that name before. It sounded familiar.

"Yes, I was asking Ludo about that," said Mr Weasley, frowning. "He says Bertha's got lost plenty of times before now – though I must say, if it was someone in my department, I'd be worried..."

"Oh, Bertha's hopeless, all right,"said Percy. "I hear she's been shunted from department to department for years, much more trouble than she's worth...but all the same, Bagman ought to be trying to find her. Mr Crouch has been taking a personal interest – she worked in our department at one time, you know, and I think Mr Crouch was quite fond of her – but Bagman just keeps laughing and saying she probably misread the map and ended up in Australia instead of Albania. However," Percy heaved an impressive sigh, and took a deep swig of elderflower wine, "we've got quite enough on our plates at the Department of International Magical Co-operation without trying to find members of other departments too. As you know, we've got another big event to organise right after the World Cup."

He cleared his throat significantly and looked down towards the end of the table where Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I were sitting. "You know the one I'm talking about, Father." He raised his voice slightly. "The top-secret one.'"

Ron rolled his eyes and muttered to Harry, Hermione, and I. "He's been trying to get us to ask what that event is ever since he started work. Probably an exhibition of thick-bottomed cauldrons."

In the middle of the table, Mrs Weasley was arguing with Bill about his earring, which seemed to be a recent acquisition.

"...with a horrible great fang on it, really, Bill, what do they say at the bank?"

"Mum, no one at the bank gives a damn how I dress as long as I bring home plenty of treasure," said Bill patiently.

"And your hair's getting silly, dear," said Mrs Weasley, fingering her wand lovingly. "I wish you'd let me give it a trim..."

"I like it," said Ginny, who was sitting beside Bill. "You're so old-fashioned, Mum. Anyway, it's nowhere near as long as Professor Dumbledore's..."

Next to Mrs Weasley, Fred, George and Charlie were all talking spiritedly about the World Cup.

"It's got to be Ireland," said Charlie thickly, through a mouthful of potato. "They flattened Peru in the semi-finals."

"Bulgaria have got Viktor Krum, though," said Fred.

"Krum's one decent player, Ireland have got seven," said Charlie shortly. "I wish England had got through, though. That was embarrassing, that was."

"What happened?" said Harry and I eagerly, regretting more than ever our isolation from the wizarding world. We both loved Quidditch. We had played as Seeker and Chaser on the Gryffindor house Quidditch team ever since our first year at Hogwarts and owned Firebolts, one of the best racing brooms in the world.

"Went down to Transylvania, three hundred and ninety to ten," said Charlie gloomily. "Shocking performance. And Wales lost to Uganda, and Scotland were slaughtered by Luxembourg."

Mr Weasley conjured up candles to light the darkening garden before we had pudding (home-made strawberry ice-cream), and by the time we had finished, moths were fluttering low over the table and the warm air was perfumed with the smells of grass and honeysuckle. I was feeling extremely well fed and at peace with the world as I rested my head on Harry's shoulder and watched several gnomes sprinting through the rose bushes, laughing madly and closely pursued by Crookshanks and Drake.

Ron looked carefully up the table to check that the rest of the family were all busy talking, then he said very quietly to Harry and I. "So – have you heard from Sirius lately?"

Hermione looked round, listening closely. She of course, knew about my contact with my father and we both knew he must have also contacted Harry.

"Yeah," said Harry softly, "twice. He sounds OK. I wrote to him the day before yesterday. He might write back while I'm here." I smiled as I remembered my own letter and that I might also be getting a response soon!

"Look at the time," Mrs Weasley said suddenly, checking her wristwatch. "You really should be in bed, the whole lot of you, you'll be up at the crack of dawn to get to the Cup. Harry, if you leave your school list out, I'll get your things for you tomorrow in Diagon Alley. I'm getting everyone else's. There might not be time after the World Cup, the match went on for five days last time.'

"Wow – hope it does this time!" said Harry and I enthusiastically.

"Well, I certainly don't," said Percy sanctimoniously. "I shudder to think what the state of my in-tray would be if I was away from work for five days."

"Yeah, someone might slip dragon dung in it again, eh, Perce?" said Fred.

"That was a sample of fertiliser from Norway!" said Percy, going very red in the face. "It was nothing personal!"

"It was," Fred whispered to Harry and I, as they got up from the table. "We sent it."

I laughed and followed Hermione and Ginny back upstairs where we promptly fell asleep.

*************************************

In-line Comments

\- aww poor Harry haha like he needed any further reason to love Kat - if it's not clear, she's starting to go through puberty/also her "charming" powers that she inherited from her father are also growing so unfortunately she's gonna be getting a lot more attention this year whether she wants it or not :p

\- aww how sweet! Hopefully the Buckbeak charm will help a little till she can reunite with him/her :)

\- hehehe looks like Crookshanks and Drake are having fun!


	5. The Portkey

Katrina's POV

I felt as though I had barely lain down to sleep in Ginny's room when I was being shaken awake by Mrs Weasley.

'Time to go, Katrina, dear,' she whispered, moving away to wake Hermione and Ginny.

It was still dark outside. Ginny muttered indistinctly as her mother roused her.

We dressed in silence, too sleepy to talk, then, yawning and stretching, the three of us headed downstairs into the kitchen.

Mrs Weasley was stirring the contents of a large pot on the stove, while Mr Weasley was sitting at the table, checking a sheaf of large parchment tickets. He looked up as we entered, and spread his arms so that we could see his clothes more clearly. He was wearing what appeared to be a golfing jumper and a very old pair of jeans, slightly too big for him and held up with a thick leather belt.

"What d'you think?' he asked anxiously. "We're supposed to go incognito – do I look like a Muggle, Katrina, Hermione?"

"Yeah," I said, smiling, "very good."

"Where're Bill and Charlie and Per–Per–Percy?" said George, failing to stifle a huge yawn as he, Fred, and Harry walked into the kitchen.

"Well, they're Apparating, aren't they?" said Mrs Weasley, heaving the large pot over to the table and starting to ladle porridge into bowls. "So they can have a bit of a lie-in."

I knew that Apparating was very difficult; it meant disappearing from one place and reappearing almost instantly in another.

"So they're still in bed?' said Fred grumpily, pulling his bowl of porridge towards him. "Why can't we Apparate, too?"

"Because you're not of age and you haven't had your test," snapped Mrs Weasley.

"You have to pass a test to Apparate?" Harry asked.

"Oh yes," said Mr Weasley, tucking the tickets safely into the back pocket of his jeans. "The Department of Magical Transportation had to fine a couple of people the other day for Apparating without a licence. It's not easy, Apparition, and when it's not done properly it can lead to nasty complications. This pair I'm talking about went and splinched themselves."

Everyone around the table except Harry winced. I shivered at the thought, it was supposed to be very painful!

"Er – splinched?" said Harry.

"They left half of themselves behind,' said Mr Weasley, now spooning large amounts of treacle onto his porridge. "So, of course, they were stuck. Couldn't move either way. Had to wait for the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad to sort them out. Meant a fair old bit of paperwork, I can tell you, what with the Muggles who spotted the body parts they'd left behind..."

"Were they OK?" he asked, startled.

"Oh yes," said Mr Weasley matter-of-factly. "But they got a heavy fine, and I don't think they'll be trying it again in a hurry. You don't mess around with Apparition. There are plenty of adult wizards who don't bother with it. Prefer brooms – slower, but safer."

"But Bill and Charlie and Percy can all do it?"

"Charlie had to take the test twice," said Fred, grinning. "He failed first time, Apparated five miles south of where he meant to, right on top of some poor old dear doing her shopping, remember?"

"Yes, well, he passed second time," said Mrs Weasley, amid hearty sniggers.

"Percy only passed two weeks ago," said George. "He's been Apparating downstairs every morning since, just to prove he can."

"Why do we have to be up so early?" Ginny said, rubbing her eyes as she ate her porridge.

"We've got a bit of a walk," said Mr Weasley.

"Walk?' said Harry. "What, are we walking to the World Cup?"

"No, no, that's miles away," said Mr Weasley, smiling. "We only need to walk a short way. It's just that it's very difficult for a large number of wizards to congregate without attracting Muggle attention. We have to be very careful about how we travel at the best of times, and on a huge occasion like the Quidditch World Cup –"

"George!" said Mrs Weasley sharply, and we all jumped.

"What?" said George, in an innocent tone that deceived nobody.

"What is that in your pocket?"

"Nothing!"

"Don't you lie to me!"

Mrs Weasley pointed her wand at George's pocket and said, "Accio!"

Several small, brightly coloured objects zoomed out of George's pocket; he made a grab for them but missed, and they sped right into Mrs Weasley's outstretched hand.

"We told you to destroy them!" said Mrs Weasley furiously, holding up what were unmistakeably more Ton-Tongue Toffees. "We told you to get rid of the lot! Empty your pockets, go on, both of you!"

It was an unpleasant scene; the twins had evidently been trying to smuggle as many toffees out of the house as possible, and it was only by using her Summoning Charm that Mrs Weasley managed to find them all.

"Accio! Accio! Accio!" she shouted, and toffees zoomed from all sorts of unlikely places, including the lining of George's jacket and the turn-ups of Fred's jeans.

"We spent six months developing those!" Fred shouted at his mother, as she threw the toffees away.

"Oh, a fine way to spend six months!" she shrieked. "No wonder you didn't get more O.W.Ls!"

All in all, the atmosphere was not very friendly as we made our departure. Mrs Weasley was still glowering as she kissed Mr Weasley on the cheek, though not nearly as much as the twins, who had each hoisted their rucksacks onto their backs and walked out without a word to her.

"Well, have a lovely time," said Mrs Weasley, "and behave yourselves," she called after the twins' retreating backs, but they did not look back or answer. "I'll send Bill, Charlie and Percy along around midday," Mrs Weasley said to Mr Weasley, as he, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and I set off across the dark yard after Fred and George.

It was chilly and the moon was still out. Only a dull, greenish tinge along the horizon to our right showed that daybreak was drawing closer. Harry walked next to me and wrapped his arms around me to protect against the cold. I blushed but did nothing to remove his hands. They felt so warm and heated me straight down to my toes.

"So how does everyone get there without all the Muggles noticing?" he asked Mr Weasley.

"It's been a massive organisational problem," sighed Mr Weasley. "The trouble is, about a hundred thousand wizards turn up to the World Cup, and of course we just haven't got a magical site big enough to accommodate them all. There are places Muggles can't penetrate, but imagine trying to pack a hundred thousand wizards into Diagon Alley or platform nine and three-quarters. So we had to find a nice deserted moor, and set up as many anti-Muggle precautions as possible. The whole Ministry's been working on it for months. Firstly, of course, we have to stagger the arrivals. People with cheaper tickets have to arrive two weeks beforehand. A limited number use Muggle transport, but we can't have too many clogging up their buses and trains – remember, wizards are coming from all over the world. Some Apparate, of course, but we have to set up safe points for them to appear, well away from Muggles. I believe there's a handy wood they're using as the Apparition point. For those who don't want to Apparate, or can't, we use Portkeys. They're objects that are used to transport wizards from one spot to another at a prearranged time. You can do large groups at a time if you need to. There have been two hundred Portkeys placed at strategic points around Britain, and the nearest one to us is up the top of Stoatshead Hill, so that's where we're headed."

Mr Weasley pointed ahead of us, where a large black mass rose beyond the village of Ottery St Catchpole.

"What sort of objects are Portkeys?" I asked curiously.

"Well, they can be anything," said Mr Weasley. "Unobtrusive things, obviously, so Muggles don't go picking them up and playing with them...stuff they'll just think is litter..."

We trudged down the dark, dank lane towards the village, the silence broken only by our footsteps. The sky lightened very slowly as we made our way through the village, its inky blackness diluting to deepest blue. Despite Harry's warm touch, my hands and feet were freezing. Mr Weasley kept checking his watch.

We didn't have breath to spare for talking as we began to climb Stoatshead Hill, stumbling occasionally in hidden rabbit holes, slipping on thick black tuffets of grass. Each breath I took was sharp in my chest, and my legs were starting to seize up when at last my feet found level ground.

"Whew," panted Mr Weasley, taking off his glasses and wiping them on his sweater. "Well, we've made good time – we've got ten minutes..."

Hermione came over the crest of the hill last, clutching a stitch in her side.

"Now we just need the Portkey," said Mr Weasley, replacing his glasses and squinting around at the ground. "It won't be big...come on..."

We spread out, searching. We had only been at it for a couple of minutes, however, when a shout rent the still air.

"Over here, Arthur! Over here, son, we've got it!"

Two tall figures were silhouetted against the starry sky on the other side of the hilltop.

"Amos!" said Mr Weasley, smiling as he strode over to the man who had shouted. The rest of us followed.

Mr Weasley was shaking hands with a ruddy-faced wizard with a scrubby brown beard, who was holding a mouldy-looking old boot in his other hand.

"This is Amos Diggory, everyone," said Mr Weasley. "Works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And I think you know his son, Cedric?"

Cedric Diggory was an extremely handsome boy of around seventeen. He was captain and Seeker of the Hufflepuff house Quidditch team at Hogwarts.

"Hi," said Cedric, looking around at us all. "Hello, Kat! Wow! You um...you look great!"

"Thanks, Ced," I said blushing as everybody said 'Hi' back except Fred and George, who merely nodded. They had never quite forgiven Cedric for beating our team, Gryffindor, in the first Quidditch match of the previous year.

"Long walk, Arthur?" Cedric's father asked.

"Not too bad," said Mr Weasley. "We live just on the other side of the village there. You?"

"Had to get up at two, didn't we, Ced? I tell you, I'll be glad when he's got his Apparition test. Still...not complaining...Quidditch World Cup, wouldn't miss it for a sackful of Galleons – and the tickets cost about that. Mind you, looks like I got off easy..." Amos Diggory peered good-naturedly around at the three Weasley boys, Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and I. "All these yours, Arthur?"

"Oh, no, only the redheads," said Mr Weasley, pointing out his children. "This is Hermione, friend of Ron's – and Harry and Katrina, two more friends –"

"Merlin's beard," said Amos Diggory, his eyes widening. "Harry? Harry Potter?"

"Er – yeah," said Harry as his cheeks reddened. I thanked the universe for the millionth time that my scar wasn't as visible as Harry's - I didn't have to worry about people looking at me curiously like they did with Harry.

"Ced's talked about you, of course," said Amos Diggory. "Told us all about playing against you and Katrina last year...I said to him, I said – Ced, that'll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will...you beat Harry Potter!"

"Harry and Katrina fell off their broom, Dad," he muttered. "I told you...it was an accident..."

"Yes, but you didn't fall off, did you? Though I can certainly see why you rescued the girl! So nice to meet you, Katrina! My son never stops talking about you!" roared Amos genially, slapping his son on his back. 'Always modest, our Ced, always the gentleman...but the best man won, I'm sure Harry'd say the same, wouldn't you, eh? One falls off his broom, one stays on, you don't need to be a genius to tell which one's the better flier!"

"You talk about me?" I felt my face go red as I looked at Cedric.

"Of course I talk about you, princess!"

"Must be nearly time," said Mr Weasley quickly, pulling out his watch again. "Do you know whether we're waiting for any more, Amos?"

"No, the Lovegoods have been there for a week already and the Fawcetts couldn't get tickets," said Mr Diggory. "There aren't any more of us in this area, are there?"

"Not that I know of," said Mr Weasley. "Yes, it's a minute off...we'd better get ready..."

He looked around at Harry, Hermione, and I. "You just need to touch the Portkey, that's all, a finger will do –"

With difficulty, owing to the bulky backpacks, the ten of us crowded around the old boot held out by Amos Diggory.

We all stood there, in a tight circle, as a chill breeze swept over the hilltop. Nobody spoke. It suddenly occurred to me how odd this would look if a Muggle were to walk up here now...ten people, two grown men, clutching this manky old boot in the semi-darkness, waiting...

"Three..." muttered Mr Weasley, one eye still on his watch, "two...one..."

It happened immediately: I felt as though a hook just behind my navel had been suddenly jerked irresistibly forwards. My feet had left the ground; I could feel Cedric and Hermione on either side of me, their shoulders banging into mine; we were all speeding forwards in a howl of wind and swirling colour; my forefinger was stuck to the boot as though it was pulling me magnetically onwards and then –

My feet slammed into the ground; Hermione staggered into me and I fell over; the Portkey hit the ground near my head with a heavy thud.

I looked up. Mr Weasley, Mr Diggory and Cedric were still standing, though looking very windswept; everybody else was on the ground.

"Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill," said a voice as Cedric reached down and carefully helped me up.

*************************************

In-line Comments

\- once again sorry for the short chapters, just easier to go along with the books format and these ones are shorter lol

\- awww, Harry and Kat are so cute together

\- but wait, so are Kat and Cedric, hmm who will win? Or will there be someone else? Hehe


	6. Bagman and Crouch

Harry's POV

I disentangled myself from Ron and got to my feet. We had arrived on what appeared to be a deserted stretch of misty moor. In front of us was a pair of tired and grumpy-looking wizards, one of whom was holding a large gold watch, the other a thick roll of parchment and a quill. Both were dressed as Muggles, though very inexpertly; the man with the watch wore a tweed suit with thigh-length galoshes; his colleague, a kilt and a poncho.

"Morning, Basil," said Mr Weasley, picking up the boot and handing it to the kilted wizard, who threw it into a large box of used Portkeys beside him; I could see an old newspaper, an empty drinks can and a punctured football.

"Hello there, Arthur," said Basil wearily. "Not on duty, eh? It's all right for some...we've been here all night...you'd better get out of the way, we've got a big party coming in from the Black Forest at five fifteen. Hang on, I'll find your campsite...Weasley... Weasley..." He consulted his parchment list. "About a quarter of a mile's walk over there, first field you come to. Site manager's called Mr Roberts. Diggory...second field...ask for Mr Payne.'

"Thanks, Basil," said Mr Weasley, and he beckoned everyone to follow him.

We set off across the deserted moor, unable to make out much through the mist. After about twenty minutes, a small stone cottage next to a gate swam into view. Beyond it, I could just make out the ghostly shapes of hundreds and hundreds of tents, rising up the gentle slope of a large field towards a dark wood on the horizon. We said goodbye to the Diggorys, and I clamped my jaws together as I watched Cedric give Kat a long hug before taking off to follow his father as we approached the cottage door.

A man was standing in the doorway, looking out at the tents. I knew at a glance that this was the only real Muggle for several acres. When he heard our footsteps, he turned his head to look at us.

"Morning!" said Mr Weasley brightly.

"Morning," said the Muggle.

"Would you be Mr Roberts?"

"Aye, I would," said Mr Roberts. "And who're you?"

"Weasley – two tents, booked a couple of days ago?"

"Aye," said Mr Roberts, consulting a list tacked to the door. "You've got a space up by the wood there. Just the one night?"

"That's it," said Mr Weasley.

"You'll be paying now, then?"!said Mr Roberts.

"Ah – right – certainly –" said Mr Weasley. He retreated a short distance from the cottage and beckoned me towards him. "Help me, Harry,"!he muttered, pulling a roll of Muggle money from his pocket and starting to peel the notes apart. "This one's a – a – a ten? Ah yes, I see the little number on it now...so this is a five?"

"A twenty," I corrected him in an undertone, uncomfortably aware of Mr Roberts trying to catch every word.

"Ah yes, so it is...I don't know, these little bits of paper..."

"You foreign?" said Mr Roberts, as Mr Weasley returned with the correct notes.

"Foreign?" repeated Mr Weasley, puzzled.

"You're not the first one who's had trouble with money," said Mr Roberts, scrutinising Mr Weasley closely. "I had two try and pay me with great gold coins the size of hubcaps ten minutes ago."

"Did you really?" said Mr Weasley nervously.

Mr Roberts rummaged around in a tin for some change.

"Never been this crowded," he said suddenly, looking out over the misty field again. "Hundreds of pre-bookings. People usually just turn up..."

"Is that right?" said Mr Weasley, his hand held out for his change, but Mr Roberts didn't give it to him.

"Aye,"!he said thoughtfully. "People from all over. Loads of foreigners. And not just foreigners. Weirdos, you know? There's a bloke walking round in a kilt and a poncho."

"Shouldn't he?" said Mr Weasley anxiously.

"It's like some sort of...I dunno...like some sort of rally," said Mr Roberts. "They all seem to know each other. Like a big party."

At that moment, a wizard in plus-fours appeared out of thin air next to Mr Roberts's front door.

"Obliviate!" he said sharply, pointing his wand at Mr Roberts.

Instantly, Mr Roberts's eyes slid out of focus, his brows unknitted and a look of dreamy unconcern fell over his face.

I recognised the symptoms of one who had just had his memory modified.

"A map of the campsite for you," Mr Roberts said placidly to Mr Weasley. "And your change."

"Thanks very much," said Mr Weasley.

The wizard in plus-fours accompanied us towards the gate to the campsite. He looked exhausted; his chin was blue with stubble and there were deep purple shadows under his eyes. Once out of earshot of Mr Roberts, he muttered to Mr Weasley, "Been having a lot of trouble with him. Needs a Memory Charm ten times a day to keep him happy. And Ludo Bagman's not helping. Trotting around talking about Bludgers and Quaffles at the top of his voice, not a worry about anti-Muggle security. Blimey, I'll be glad when this is over. See you later, Arthur."

He Disapparated.

"I thought Mr Bagman was Head of Magical Games and Sports?" said Kat, looking surprised. "He should know better than to talk about Bludgers near Muggles, shouldn't he?"

"He should," said Mr Weasley, smiling, and leading us through the gates into the campsite, "but Ludo's always been a bit...well...lax about security. You couldn't wish for a more enthusiastic Head of the Sports Department, though. He played Quidditch for England himself, you know. And he was the best Beater the Wimbourne Wasps ever had."

We trudged up the misty field between long rows of tents. Most looked almost ordinary; their owners had clearly tried to make them as Muggle-like as possible, but had slipped up by adding chimneys, or bell-pulls, or weather-vanes. However, here and there was a tent so obviously magical that I could hardly be surprised that Mr Roberts was getting suspicious. Halfway up the field stood an extravagant confection of striped silk like a miniature palace, with several live peacocks tethered at the entrance. A little further on we passed a tent that had three floors and several turrets; and a short way beyond that was a tent which had a front garden attached, complete with birdbath, sundial and fountain.

"Always the same," said Mr Weasley, smiling, "we can't resist showing off when we get together. Ah, here we are, look, this is us."

We had reached the very edge of the wood at the top of the field, and here was an empty space, with a small sign hammered into the ground that read "Weezly".

"Couldn't have a better spot!" said Mr Weasley happily. "The pitch is just on the other side of the wood there, we're as close as we could be." He hoisted his backpack from his shoulders. "Right," he said excitedly, "no magic allowed, strictly speaking, not when we're out in these numbers on Muggle land. We'll be putting these tents up by hand! Shouldn't be too difficult...Muggles do it all the time...here, Harry, where do you reckon we should start?"

I had never been camping in my life; the Dursleys had never taken me on any kind of holiday, preferring to leave me with Mrs Figg, an old neighbour. However, Kat, Hermione, and I worked out where most of the poles and pegs should go, and though Mr Weasley was more of a hindrance than a help, because he got thoroughly over-excited when it came to using the mallet, we finally managed to erect a pair of shabby two-man tents.

All of us stood back to admire our handiwork. Nobody looking at these tents would guess they belonged to wizards, I thought, but the trouble was that once Bill, Charlie and Percy arrived, we would be a party of ten. Hermione and Kat seemed to have spotted this problem, too; they gave me quizzical looks as Mr Weasley dropped to his hands and knees and entered the first tent.

"We'll be a bit cramped," he called, "but I think we'll all squeeze in. Come and have a look."

I bent down, ducked under the tent flap, and felt my jaw drop. I had walked into what looked like an old-fashioned, three-roomed flat, complete with bathroom and kitchen. Oddly enough, it was furnished in exactly the same sort of style as Mrs Figg's; there were crocheted covers on the mismatched chairs, and a strong smell of cats.

"Well, it's not for long," said Mr Weasley, mopping his bald patch with a handkerchief and peering in at the four bunk beds that stood in the bedroom. "I borrowed this from Perkins at the office. Doesn't camp much any more, poor fellow, he's got lumbago."

He picked up the dusty kettle and peered inside it. "We'll need water..."

"There's a tap marked on this map the Muggle gave us," said Ron, who had followed me inside the tent, and seemed completely unimpressed by its extraordinary inner proportions. "It's on the other side of the field."

"Well, why don't you, Harry, Hermione, and Kat go and get us some water, then –" Mr Weasley handed over the kettle and a couple of saucepans, "— and the rest of us will get some wood for a fire."

"But we've got an oven," said Ron, "why can't we just –?"

"Ron, anti-Muggle security!" said Mr Weasley, his face shining with anticipation. "When real Muggles camp, they cook on fires outdoors, I've seen them at it!"

After a quick tour of the girls' tent, which was slightly smaller than the boys', though without the smell of cats, Ron, Hermione, Kat, and I set off across the campsite with the kettle and saucepans.

Now, with the sun newly risen and the mist lifting, we could see the city of tents that stretched in every direction. We made our way slowly through the rows, staring eagerly around. It was only just dawning on me how many witches and wizards there must be in the world; I had never really thought much about those in other countries.

Our fellow campers were starting to wake up. First to stir were the families with small children; I had never seen witches and wizards this young before. A tiny boy no older than two was crouched outside a large pyramid-shaped tent, holding a wand and poking happily at a slug in the grass, which was swelling slowly to the size of a salami. As we drew level with him, his mother came hurrying out of the tent.

"How many times, Kevin? You don't – touch – Daddy's – wand –yeuch!"

She had trodden on the giant slug, which burst. Her scolding carried after us on the still air, mingling with the little boy's yells – "You bust slug! You bust slug!"

A short way further on, we saw two little witches, barely older than Kevin, who were riding toy broomsticks which rose only high enough for the girls' toes to skim the dewy grass. A Ministry wizard had already spotted them; as he hurried past us he muttered distractedly, 'In broad daylight! Parents having a lie-in, I suppose –"

Here and there adult wizards and witches were emerging from their tents and starting to cook breakfast. Some, with furtive looks around them, conjured fires with their wands; others were striking matches with dubious looks on their faces, as though sure this couldn't work. Three African wizards sat in serious conversation, all of them wearing long white robes and roasting what looked like a rabbit on a bright purple fire, while a group of middle-aged American witches sat gossiping happily beneath a spangled banner stretched between their tents which read: The Salem Witches' Institute. I caught snatches of conversation in strange languages from the inside of tents they passed, and though I couldn't understand a single word, the tone of every single voice was excited.

"Er – is it my eyes, or has everything gone green?" said Ron.

It wasn't just Ron's eyes. We had walked into a patch of tents that were all covered with a thick growth of shamrocks, so that it looked as though small, oddly shaped hillocks had sprouted out of the earth. Grinning faces could be seen under those which had their flaps open. Then, from behind us, we heard our names.

'Harry! Ron! Hermione! Katrina!"

It was Seamus Finnigan, our fellow Gryffindor fourth-year. He was sitting in front of his own shamrock-covered tent, with a sandy-haired woman who had to be his mother, and his best friend, Dean Thomas, also of Gryffindor.

"Like the decorations?" said Seamus, grinning, when Ron, Hermione, Kat, and I had gone over to say hello. "The Ministry's not too happy."

"Kat, you..you look...um, amazing!" I heard Dean comment as he and Seamus stared at Kat. I clenched my teeth again, not liking the way they were looking at her.

"Ah, why shouldn't we show our colours?" said Mrs Finnigan. "You should see what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over their tents. You'll be supporting Ireland, of course?" she added, eyeing us beadily.

When we had assured her that we were indeed supporting Ireland, we set off again, though, as Ron said, "Like we'd say anything else surrounded by that lot."

"I wonder what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over their tents?" said Hermione.

"Let's go and have a look," said Kat, pointing to a large patch of tents upfield, where the Bulgarian flag, red, green and white, was fluttering in the breeze.

The tents here had not been bedecked with plant life, but each and every one of them had the same poster attached to it, a poster of a very surly face with heavy black eyebrows. The picture was of course moving, but all it did was blink and scowl.

"Krum," said Ron quietly.

"What?" said Hermione.

"Krum!" said Ron. "Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker!"

"He looks really grumpy," said Hermione, looking around at the many Krums blinking and scowling at us.

'"Really grumpy"?' Ron raised his eyes to the heavens. "Who cares what he looks like? He's unbelievable. He's really young, too. Only just eighteen or something. He's a genius, you wait until tonight, you'll see."

I scowled as we made our way over to find the water tap. I couldn't help but notice how many pairs of eyes had started trailing after Kat. I didn't like it one bit, but I had to admit, she looked a little different, and even I found myself looking over to her whenever I thought I could get away with it. She hadn't just changed physically, but there was something about her that seemed...absolutely charming!

There was already a small queue for the tap in the corner of the field. We joined it, right behind a pair of men who were having a heated argument. One of them was a very old wizard who was wearing a long flowery nightgown. The other was clearly a Ministry wizard; he was holding out a pair of pinstriped trousers and almost crying with exasperation.

"Just put them on, Archie, there's a good chap, you can't walk around like that, the Muggle on the gate's already getting suspicious –"

"I bought this in a Muggle shop, "said the old wizard stubbornly. "Muggles wear them."

"Muggle women wear them, Archie, not the men, they wear these," said the Ministry wizard, and he brandished the pinstriped trousers.

"I'm not putting them on," said old Archie in indignation. "I like a healthy breeze round my privates, thanks."

Hermione and Kat were overcome with such a strong fit of the giggles at this point that they had to duck out of the queue, and only returned when Archie had collected his water and moved away again.

Walking more slowly now, because of the weight of the water, we made our way back through the campsite. Here and there we saw more familiar faces: other Hogwarts students with their families. Oliver Wood, mine and Kat's old captain of Quidditch team, dragged us over to his parents' tent to introduce us, and told Kat and I excitedly that he had just been signed to the Puddlemere United reserve team. Next we were hailed by Ernie Macmillan, a Hufflepuff fourth-year, and a little further on we saw Cho Chang, a very pretty girl who played Seeker on the Ravenclaw team. She waved and smiled at me, and I slopped quite a lot of water down my front as I waved back. More to stop Ron smirking than anything, I hurriedly pointed out a large group of teenagers whom I had never seen before.

"Who d'you reckon they are?" I said. "They don't go to Hogwarts, do they?"

''Spect they go to some foreign school," said Ron. "I know there are others, never met anyone who went to one though. Bill had a pen-friend at a school in Brazil...this was years and years ago...and he wanted to go on an exchange trip but Mum and Dad couldn't afford it. His pen-friend got all offended when he said he wasn't going and sent him a cursed hat. It made his ears shrivel up."

I laughed, but didn't voice the amazement I felt at hearing about other wizarding schools. I supposed, now I saw representatives of so many nationalities in the campsite, that I had been stupid never to realise that Hogwarts couldn't be the only one. I glanced at Hermione and Kat, who looked utterly unsurprised by the information; though Kat was looking a little peeved as she glanced back at Cho. No doubt they had run across the news about other wizarding schools in some book or other.

"You've been ages," said George, when we finally got back to the Weasleys' tents.

"Met a few people," said Ron, setting the water down. "You not got that fire started yet?"

"Dad's having fun with the matches," said Fred.

Mr Weasley was having no success at all in lighting the fire, but it wasn't for lack of trying. Splintered matches littered the ground around him, but he looked as though he was having the time of his life.

"Oops!" he said, as he managed to light a match, and promptly dropped it in surprise.

I saw Kat laugh at this and quickly wave snap her fingers together the next time Mr Weasley bent down and held another lit match over the wood, and a fire burst to life.

Unfortunately, it was at least another hour before it was hot enough to cook anything. There was plenty to watch while we waited, however. Our tent seemed to be pitched right alongside a kind of thoroughfare to the pitch, and Ministry members kept hurrying up and down it, greeting Mr Weasley cordially as they passed. Mr Weasley kept up a running commentary, mainly for mine, Hermione, and Kat's benefit; his own children knew too much about the Ministry to be greatly interested.

"That was Cuthbert Mockridge, Head of the Goblin Liaison Office...here comes Gilbert Wimple, he's with the Committee on Experimental Charms, he's had those horns for a while now...Hello, Arnie...Arnold Peasegood, he's an Obliviator – member of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, you know...and that's Bode and Croaker...they're Unspeakables..."

"They're what?"

"From the Department of Mysteries, top-secret, no idea what they get up to..."

At last, the fire was ready, and we had just started cooking eggs and sausages when Bill, Charlie and Percy came strolling out of the woods towards us.

"Just Apparated, Dad," said Percy loudly. "Ah, excellent, lunch!"

We were halfway through our plates of sausages and eggs when Mr Weasley jumped to his feet, waving and grinning at a man who was striding towards them. "Aha!" he said. "The man of the moment! Ludo!"

Ludo Bagman was easily the most noticeable person I had seen so far, even including old Archie in his flowered nightdress. He was wearing long Quidditch robes in thick horizontal strips of bright yellow and black. An enormous picture of a wasp was splashed across his chest. He had the look of a powerfully built man gone slightly to seed; the robes were stretched tightly across a large belly he surely had not had in the days when he had played Quidditch for England. His nose was squashed (probably broken by a stray Bludger, I thought), but his round blue eyes, short blond hair and rosy complexion made him look like a very overgrown schoolboy.

"Ahoy there!" Bagman called happily. He was walking as though he had springs attached to the balls of his feet, and was plainly in a state of wild excitement.

"Arthur, old man," he puffed, as he reached the campfire, "what a day, eh? What a day! Could we have asked for more perfect weather? A cloudless night coming...and hardly a hiccup in the arrangements...not much for me to do!"

Behind him, a group of haggard-looking Ministry wizards rushed past, pointing at the distant evidence of some sort of a magical fire which was sending violet sparks twenty feet into the air.

Percy hurried forward with his hand outstretched. Apparently his disapproval of the way Ludo Bagman ran his department did not prevent him wanting to make a good impression.

"Ah – yes," said Mr Weasley, grinning, "this is my son, Percy, he's just started at the Ministry – and this is Fred – no, George, sorry – that's Fred – Bill, Charlie, Ron – my daughter, Ginny – and Ron's friends, Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, and Katrina."

Bagman did the smallest of double-takes when he heard my name, and his eyes performed the familiar flick upwards to the scar on my forehead. I couldn't help but feel a little jealous of Kat, who didn't have to worry about this.

'"Everyone," Mr Weasley continued, "this is Ludo Bagman, you know who he is, it's thanks to him we've got such good tickets –"

Bagman beamed and waved his hand as if to say it had been nothing.

"Fancy a bet on the match, Arthur?" he said eagerly, jingling what seemed to be a large amount of gold in the pockets of his yellow and black robes. "I've already got Roddy Pontner betting me Bulgaria will score first – I offered him nice odds, considering Ireland's front three are the strongest I've seen in years – and little Agatha Timms has put up half shares in her eel farm on a week-long match."

"Oh...go on, then," said Mr Weasley. "Let's see...a Galleon on Ireland to win?"

"A Galleon?" Ludo Bagman looked slightly disappointed, but recovered himself. "Very well, very well...any other takers?"

"They're a bit young to be gambling," said Mr Weasley. "Molly wouldn't like –"

"We'll bet thirty-seven Galleons, fifteen Sickles, three Knuts," said Fred, as he and George quickly pooled all their money, "that Ireland wins – but Viktor Krum gets the Snitch. Oh, and we'll throw in a fake wand."

"You don't want to go showing Mr Bagman rubbish like that –" Percy hissed, but Bagman didn't seem to think the wand was rubbish at all; on the contrary, his boyish face shone with excitement as he took it from Fred, and when the wand gave a loud squawk and turned into a rubber chicken, Bagman roared with laughter.

"Excellent! I haven't seen one that convincing in years! I'd pay five Galleons for that!"

Percy froze in an attitude of stunned disapproval.

"Boys," said Mr Weasley under his breath, "I don't want you betting...that's all your savings...your mother –"

"Don't be a spoilsport, Arthur!" boomed Ludo Bagman, rattling his pockets excitedly. "They're old enough to know what they want! You reckon Ireland will win but Krum'll get the Snitch? Not a chance, boys, not a chance...I'll give you excellent odds on that one...we'll add five Galleons for the funny wand, then, shall we..."

Mr Weasley looked on helplessly as Ludo Bagman whipped out a notebook and quill and began jotting down the twins' names.

"Cheers," said George, taking the slip of parchment Bagman handed him and tucking it away carefully.

Bagman turned most cheerfully back to Mr Weasley. "Couldn't do me a brew, I suppose? I'm keeping an eye out for Barty Crouch. My Bulgarian opposite number's making difficulties, and I can't understand a word he's saying. Barty'll be able to sort it out. He speaks about a hundred and fifty languages."

"Mr Crouch?" said Percy, suddenly abandoning his look of poker-stiff disapproval and positively writhing with excitement. "He speaks over two hundred! Mermish and Gobbledegook and Troll..."

"Anyone can speak Troll," said Fred dismissively, "all you have to do is point and grunt."

Percy threw Fred an extremely nasty look, and stoked the fire vigorously to bring the kettle back to the boil.

"Any news of Bertha Jorkins yet, Ludo?" Mr Weasley asked, as Bagman settled himself down on the grass beside them all.

"Not a dicky bird," said Bagman comfortably. "But she'll turn up. Poor old Bertha...memory like a leaky cauldron and no sense of direction. Lost, you take my word for it. She'll wander back into the office some time in October, thinking it's still July."

"You don't think it might be time to send someone to look for her?" Mr Weasley suggested tentatively, as Percy handed Bagman his tea.

"Barty Crouch keeps saying that," said Bagman, his round eyes widening innocently, "but we really can't spare anyone at the moment. Oh – talk of the devil! Barty!"

A wizard had just Apparated at our fireside, and he could not have made more of a contrast with Ludo Bagman, sprawled on the grass in his old Wasp robes. Barty Crouch was a stiff, upright, elderly man, dressed in an impeccably crisp suit and tie. The parting in his short grey hair was almost unnaturally straight and his narrow toothbrush moustache looked as though he trimmed it using a slide-rule. His shoes were very highly polished. I could see at once why Percy idolised him. Percy was a great believer in rigidly following rules, and Mr Crouch had complied with the rule about Muggle dressing so thoroughly that he could have passed as a bank manager; I doubted even Uncle Vernon would have spotted him for what he really was.

"Pull up a bit of grass, Barty," said Ludo brightly, patting the ground beside him.

"No, thank you, Ludo," said Crouch, and there was a bite of impatience in his voice. "I've been looking for you everywhere. The Bulgarians are insisting we add another twelve seats to the Top Box."

"Oh, is that what they're after?" said Bagman. "I thought the chap was asking to borrow a pair of tweezers. Bit of a strong accent."

"Mr Crouch!" said Percy breathlessly, sunk into a kind of half bow which made him look like a hunchback. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Oh," said Mr Crouch, looking over at Percy in mild surprise. "Yes – thank you, Weatherby."

Fred and George choked into their own cups. Percy, very pink around the ears, busied himself with the kettle.

"Oh, and I've been wanting a word with you, too, Arthur," said Mr Crouch, his sharp eyes falling upon Mr Weasley. "Ali Bashir's on the warpath. He wants a word with you about your embargo on flying carpets."

Mr Weasley heaved a deep sigh. "I sent him an owl about that just last week. If I've told him once I've told him a hundred times: carpets are defined as a Muggle Artifact by the Registry of Proscribed Charmable Objects, but will he listen?"

"I doubt it," said Mr Crouch, accepting a cup from Percy. "He's desperate to export here."

"Well, they'll never replace brooms in Britain, will they?" said Bagman.

"Ali thinks there's a niche in the market for a family vehicle," said Mr Crouch. "I remember my grandfather had an Axminster that could seat twelve – but that was before carpets were banned, of course."

He spoke as though he wanted to leave nobody in any doubt that all his ancestors had abided strictly by the law.

"So, been keeping busy, Barty?" said Bagman breezily.

"Fairly," said Mr Crouch drily. "Organizing Portkeys across five continents is no mean feat, Ludo."

"I expect you'll both be glad when this is over?" said Mr Weasley.

Ludo Bagman looked shocked. "Glad! Don't know when I've had more fun...still, it's not as though we haven't got anything to look forward to, eh, Barty? Eh? Plenty left to organise, eh?"

Mr Crouch raised his eyebrows at Bagman. "We agreed not to make the announcement until all the details –"

"Oh, details!" said Bagman, waving the word away like a cloud of midges. "They've signed, haven't they? They've agreed, haven't they? I bet you anything these kids'll know soon enough anyway. I mean, it's happening at Hogwarts –"

"Ludo, we need to meet the Bulgarians, you know," said Mr Crouch sharply, cutting Bagman's remarks short. "Thank you for the tea, Weatherby."

He pushed his undrunk tea back at Percy and waited for Ludo to rise; Bagman struggled to his feet again, swigging down the last of his tea, the gold in his pockets chinking merrily.

"See you all later!" he said. "You'll be up in the Top Box with me – I'm commentating!" He waved, Barty Crouch nodded curtly, and both of them Disapparated.

"What's happening at Hogwarts, Dad!" said Fred at once. "What were they talking about?"

"You'll find out soon enough," said Mr Weasley, smiling.

"It's classified information, until such time as the Ministry decides to release it," said Percy stiffly. "Mr Crouch was quite right not to disclose it."

"Oh, shut up, Weatherby," said Fred.

A sense of excitement rose like a palpable cloud over the campsite as the afternoon wore on. By dusk, the still summer air itself seemed to be quivering with anticipation, and as darkness spread like a curtain over the thousands of waiting wizards, the last vestiges of pretence disappeared: the Ministry seemed to have bowed to the inevitable, and stopped fighting the signs of blatant magic now breaking out everywhere.

Salesmen were Apparating every few feet, carrying trays and pushing carts full of extraordinary merchandise. There were luminous rosettes – green for Ireland, red for Bulgaria – which were squealing the names of the players, pointed green hats bedecked with dancing shamrocks, Bulgarian scarves adorned with lions that really roared, flags from both countries which played their national anthems as they were waved; there were tiny models of Firebolts, which really flew, and collectible figures of famous players, which strolled across the palm of your hand, preening themselves.

"Been saving my pocket money all summer for this," Ron told me, as the four of us strolled through the salesmen, buying souvenirs. Though Ron purchased himself a dancing-shamrock hat and a large green rosette, he also bought a small figure of Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker. The miniature Krum walked backwards and forwards over Ron's hand, scowling up at the green rosette above him. Kat bought a mini Firebolt, though I couldn't see why, we both had the real thing.

"It's for Drake!" She said grinning at me. "I can't wait to see how cute he looks riding this!" We laughed as we pictured it.

"Wow, look at these!" I said, hurrying over to a cart piled high with what looked like brass binoculars, except that they were covered in all sorts of weird knobs and dials.

"Omnioculars," said the saleswizard eagerly. "You can replay action...slow everything down...and they flash up a play-by-play breakdown if you need it. Bargain – ten Galleons each."

"Wish I hadn't bought this now," said Ron, gesturing at his dancing shamrock hat and gazing longingly at the Omnioculars.

"Four pairs," I said, firmly to the wizard.

"No – don't bother," said Ron, going red as Kat shoved enough money to cover her's and Hermione's into my hand. Ron was always touchy about the fact that Kat and I, who had inherited a small fortune from our parents, had much more money than he did.

"You won't be getting anything for Christmas," I told him, thrusting Omnioculars into his as Kat handed Hermione's to her. "For about ten years, mind."

"Fair enough," said Ron, grinning.

"Oooh, thanks, Harry, thanks Kat!" said Hermione. "And I'll get us some programmes, look –"

Our money bags considerably lighter, we went back to the tents. Bill, Charlie and Ginny were all sporting green rosettes too, and Mr Weasley was carrying an Irish flag. Fred and George had no souvenirs as they had given Bagman all their gold.

And then a deep, booming gong sounded somewhere beyond the woods, and, at once, green and red lanterns blazed into life in the trees, lighting a path to the pitch.

"It's time!" said Mr Weasley, looking as excited as any of us. "Come on, let's go!"

*************************************

In-line Comments

\- yes, I know Drake has his own wings but still, thought it would be a cute little detail haha

\- once again, it's just another manifestation of Kat's 'charming' trait that she gets from her father


	7. The Quidditch World Cup

Katrina's POV

Clutching our purchases, Mr Weasley in the lead, we all hurried into the wood, following the lantern-lit trail. We could hear the sounds of thousands of people moving around us, shouts and laughter, snatches of singing. The atmosphere of feverish excitement was highly infectious; I couldn't stop grinning. We walked through the wood for twenty minutes, talking and joking loudly, until at last we emerged on the other side, and found ourselves in the shadow of a gigantic stadium. Though I could see only a fraction of the immense gold walls surrounding the pitch, I could tell that ten cathedrals would fit comfortably inside it.

"Seats a hundred thousand," said Mr Weasley, spotting the awestruck look on Harry's and my face. "Ministry task force of five hundred have been working on it all year. Muggle-Repelling Charms on every inch of it. Every time Muggles have got anywhere near here all year, they've suddenly remembered urgent appointments and had to dash away again...Bless them," he added fondly, leading the way towards the nearest entrance, which was already surrounded by a swarm of shouting witches and wizards.

"Prime seats!" said the Ministry witch at the entrance, when she checked our tickets. "Top Box! Straight upstairs, Arthur, and as high as you can go."

The stairs into the stadium were carpeted in rich purple. We clambered upwards with the rest of the crowd, which slowly filtered away through doors into the stands to their left and right. We kept climbing, and at last we reached the top of the staircase, and found ourselves in a small box, set at the highest point of the stadium and situated exactly halfway between the golden goalposts. About twenty purple-and-gilt chairs stood in two rows here, and I, filing into the front seats with the Weasleys, looked down upon a scene the like of which I could never have imagined.

A hundred thousand witches and wizards were taking their places in the seats which rose in levels around the long oval pitch. Everything was suffused with a mysterious golden light that seemed to come from the stadium itself. The pitch looked smooth as velvet from our lofty position. At either end of the pitch stood three goal hoops, fifty feet high; right opposite us, almost at my eye level, was a gigantic blackboard. Gold writing kept dashing across it as though an invisible giant's hand was scrawling upon it and then wiping it off again; watching it, I saw that it was flashing advertisements across the pitch.

I tore my eyes away from the sign and looked over my shoulder to see who else was sharing the box with us. So far it was empty, except for a tiny creature sitting in the second from last seat at the end of the row behind us. The creature, whose legs were so short they stuck out in front of it on the chair, was wearing a tea-towel draped like a toga, and it had its face hidden in its hands. Yet those long, bat-like ears were oddly familiar...

"Dobby?!" said Harry and incredulously.

The tiny creature looked up and parted its fingers, revealing enormous brown eyes and a nose the exact size and shape of a large tomato. It wasn't Dobby – it was, however, unmistakeably a house-elf, as my friend Dobby had been. Harry had set Dobby free from his old owners, the Malfoy family.

"Did sir and ma'am just call me Dobby?" squeaked the elf curiously, from between its fingers. Its voice was higher even than Dobby's had been, a teeny, quivering squeak of a voice, and I suspected – though it was very hard to tell with a house-elf – that this one might just be female. Ron and Hermione spun around in their seats to look. Though they had heard a lot about Dobby from Harry and I, they had never actually met him. Even Mr Weasley looked around in interest.

"Sorry," I told the elf, "we just thought you were someone we knew."

'But I knows Dobby too!" squeaked the elf. She was shielding her face, as though blinded by light, though the Top Box was not brightly lit. "My name is Winky, sir – and you, sir –' her dark brown eyes widened to the size of side plates as they rested upon Harry's scar, 'you is surely Harry Potter and Katrina!"

"Yeah, we are," said Harry.

"But Dobby talks of you two all the time!" she said, lowering her hands very slightly and looking awestruck.

"How is he?" said Harry and I together. "How's freedom suiting him?"

"Ah, sir," said Winky, shaking her head, "ah, sir, meaning no disrespect, sir, but I is not sure you did Dobby a favour, sir, when you is setting him free."

"Why?" said Harry, taken aback. "What's wrong with him?" Knowing the house elves at Hogwarts, I had an idea where Winky was heading with this.

"Freedom is going to Dobby's head, sir,'"said Winky sadly. "Ideas above his station, sir. Can't get another position, sir."

"Why not?" said Harry.

Winky lowered her voice by a half octave and whispered, "He is wanting paying for his work, sir."

"Paying?" said Harry blankly. "Well – why shouldn't he be paid?"

Winky looked quite horrified at the idea, and closed her fingers slightly so that her face was half-hidden again.

"House-elves is not paid, sir!" she said in a muffled squeak. "No, no, no. I says to Dobby, I says, go find yourself a nice family and settle down, Dobby. He is getting up to all sorts of high jinks, sir, what is unbecoming to a house-elf. You goes racketing around like this, Dobby, I says, and next thing I hear you's up in front of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, like some common goblin."

"Well, it's about time he had a bit of fun," said Harry.

"House-elves is not supposed to have fun, Harry Potter," said Winky firmly, from behind her hands. "House-elves does what they is told. I is not liking heights at all, Harry Potter –" she glanced towards the edge of the box and gulped, "— but my master sends me to the Top Box and I comes, sir."

"Why's he sent you up here, if he knows you don't like heights?" said Harry, frowning.

"Master – master wants me to save him a seat, Harry Potter, he is very busy," said Winky, tilting her head towards the empty space beside her. "Winky is wishing she is back in master's tent, Harry Potter, but Winky does what she is told, Winky is a good house-elf." I shook my head, not liking the sound of her boss; someone who would knowingly send her up here when they knew she didn't like heights!

She gave the edge of the box another frightened look, and hid her eyes completely again. Harry turned back to us.

"So that's a house-elf?" Ron muttered. "Weird things, aren't they?"

"Dobby was weirder," said Harry, and I fervently.

Ron pulled out his Omnioculars and started testing them, staring down into the crowd on the other side of the stadium.

"Wild!" he said, twiddling the replay knob on the side. "I can make that old bloke down there pick his nose again...and again...and again..."

Hermione, meanwhile, was skimming eagerly through her velvet-covered, tasselled programme.

'"A display from the team mascots will precede the match'," she read aloud.

"Oh, that's always worth watching," said Mr Weasley. "National teams bring creatures from their native land, you know, to put on a bit of a show."

The box filled gradually around us over the next half hour. Mr Weasley kept shaking hands with people who were obviously very important wizards. Percy jumped to his feet so often that he looked as though he was trying to sit on a hedgehog. When Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic himself, arrived, Percy bowed so low that his glasses fell off and shattered. Highly embarrassed, he repaired them with his wand, and thereafter remained in his seat, throwing jealous looks at Harry and I, whom Cornelius Fudge had greeted like an old friend. We had met before, and Fudge shook Harry's hand in a fatherly fashion, asked us how we were, and introduced us to the wizards on either side of him.

"Harry Potter, you know," he loudly told the Bulgarian Minister, who was wearing splendid robes of black velvet trimmed with gold, and didn't seem to understand a word of English. "Harry Potter...oh, come on now, you know who he is...the boy who survived You-Know-Who...you do know who he is –"

The Bulgarian wizard suddenly spotted Harry's scar and started gabbling loudly and excitedly, pointing at it.

"Knew we'd get there in the end," said Fudge wearily to Harry. "I'm no great shakes at languages, I need Barty Crouch for this sort of thing. Ah, I see his house-elf's saving him a seat...good job too, these Bulgarian blighters have been trying to cadge all the best places...ah, and here's Lucius!"

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I turned quickly. Edging along the second row to three still-empty seats right behind Mr Weasley were none other than Dobby the house-elf's old owners – Lucius Malfoy, his son, Draco, and his mother, Narcissa.

"Ah, Fudge," said Mr Malfoy, holding out his hand as he reached the Minister for Magic. "How are you? I don't think you've met my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco?"

"How do you do, how do you do?" said Fudge, smiling and bowing to Mrs Malfoy. "And allow me to introduce you to Mr Oblansk – Obalonsk – Mr – well, he's the Bulgarian Minister for Magic, and he can't understand a word I'm saying anyway, so never mind. And let's see who else – you know Arthur Weasley, I daresay?"

It was a tense moment. Mr Weasley and Mr Malfoy looked at each other with hatred in their eyes. Mr Malfoy's cold grey eyes swept over Mr Weasley, and then up and down the row.

"Good Lord, Arthur," he said softly. "What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much?"

Fudge, who wasn't listening, said, "Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He's here as my guest."

"How – how nice," said Mr Weasley, with a very strained smile.

Mr Malfoy's eyes had returned to Hermione and I, and we went slightly pink, but stared determinedly back at him. The Malfoys prided themselves on being pure-bloods; in other words, they considered anyone of Muggle descent, like Hermione, second-class. They also considered anyone who befriended a muggle-born to be a blood-traitor. However, under the gaze of the Minister for Magic, Mr Malfoy didn't dare say anything. He nodded sneeringly to Mr Weasley, and continued down the line to his seats. Draco shot Harry, Ron and Hermione one contemptuous look, then settled himself between his mother and father. Though I noticed him staring at me in shock as his gaze wandered over me. I shivered and stepped closer to Harry.

"Slimy gits," Ron muttered, as he, Harry, Hermione, and I turned to face the pitch again. Next moment, Ludo Bagman had charged into the box.

"Everyone ready?" he said, his round face gleaming like a great, excited Edam. "Minister – ready to go?"

"Ready when you are, Ludo," said Fudge comfortably.

Ludo whipped out his wand, directed it at his own throat and said "Sonorus!"'and then spoke over the roar of sound that was now filling the packed stadium; his voice echoed over them, booming into every corner of the stands: "Ladies and gentlemen...welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"

The spectators screamed and clapped. Thousands of flags waved, adding their discordant national anthems to the racket. The huge blackboard opposite us was wiped clear of its last message (Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans – a Risk with Every Mouthful!) and now showed BULGARIA: ZERO, IRELAND: ZERO.

"And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce...the Bulgarian Team Mascots!"

The right-hand side of the stands, which was a solid block of scarlet, roared its approval.

"I wonder what they've brought?" said Mr Weasley, leaning forwards in his seat. "Aaah!" He suddenly whipped off his glasses and polished them hurriedly on his robes. "Veela!"

"What are Veel–?"

But a hundred Veela were now gliding out onto the pitch, and Harry's question was answered for him. Veela were women...extremely beautiful women as I could tell from the reactions from the guys around us. They started to dance and I watched Harry stare at them blissfully. Next thing I knew, he lifted up and leg and made to climb up and over the side of the box!

I reached out and tugged him back down. The minute my hand touched his shoulder, he seemed to come out of his trance and shook his head in confusion.

Angry yells were filling the stadium as the music ended and the Veela stopped dancing. The crowd didn't want the Veela to go. I looked over to see Ron absent-mindedly shredding the shamrocks on his hat. Mr Weasley, smiling slightly, leant over to Ron and tugged the hat out of his hands.

"You'll be wanting that," he said, "once Ireland have had their say."

"Huh?" said Ron, staring open-mouthed at the Veela, who had now lined up along one side of the pitch.

Hermione made a loud tutting noise. I looked at her suspiciously. Could it be possible she liked Ron and was jealous? Hmmm...I'd have to make sure to ask her the next time we were alone!

"And now," roared Ludo Bagman's voice, "kindly put your wands in the air...for the Irish National Team Mascots!"

Next moment, what seemed to be a great green-and-gold comet had come zooming into the stadium. It did one circuit of the stadium, then split into two smaller comets, each hurtling towards the goalposts. A rainbow arced suddenly across the pitch, connecting the two balls of light. The crowd "oooohed" and "aaaaahed", as though at a firework display. Now the rainbow faded and the balls of light reunited and merged; they had formed a great shimmering shamrock, which rose up into the sky and began to soar over the stands. Something like golden rain seemed to be falling from it –

"Excellent!" yelled Ron, as the shamrock soared over our heads, and heavy gold coins rained from it, bouncing off our heads and seats. Squinting up at the shamrock, I realised that it was actually composed of thousands of tiny little bearded men with red waistcoats, each carrying a minute lamp of gold or green.

"Leprechauns!" said Mr Weasley, over the tumultuous applause of the crowd, many of whom were still fighting and rummaging around under their chairs to retrieve the gold.

"There you go," Ron yelled happily, stuffing a fistful of gold coins into Harry's hand. "For the Omnioculars! Now you've got to buy me a Christmas present, ha!" I decided not to mention that it would disappear soon enough.

The great shamrock dissolved, the leprechauns drifted down onto the pitch on the opposite side from the Veela, and settled themselves cross-legged to watch the match.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome – the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you – Dimitrov!"

A scarlet-clad figure on a broomstick, moving so fast it was blurred, shot out onto the pitch from an entrance far below, to wild applause from the Bulgarian supporters.

"Ivanova!"

A second scarlet-robed player zoomed out.

"Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaand – Krum!"

"That's him, that's him!" yelled Ron, following Krum with his Omnioculars; I quickly focused my own.

Viktor Krum was thin, dark and sallow-skinned, with a large curved nose and thick black eyebrows. He looked like an overgrown bird of prey. It was hard to believe he was only eighteen.

"And now, please greet – the Irish National Quidditch Team!" yelled Bagman. "Presenting – Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaand – Lynch!"

Seven green blurs swept onto the pitch; I spun a small dial on the side of my Omnioculars, and slowed the players down enough to read the word 'Firebolt' on each of their brooms, and see their names, embroidered in silver, upon their backs.

"And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!"

A small and skinny wizard, completely bald but with a moustache, wearing robes of pure gold to match the stadium, strode out onto the pitch. A silver whistle was protruding from under the moustache, and he was carrying a large wooden crate under one arm, his broomstick under the other. I spun the speed dial on my Omnioculars back to normal, watching closely as Mostafa mounted his broomstick and kicked the crate open – four balls burst into the air: the scarlet Quaffle, the two black Bludgers and (I saw it for the briefest moment, before it sped out of sight) the minuscule, winged, Golden Snitch. With a sharp blast on his whistle, Mostafa shot into the air after the balls.

"Theeeeeeeey're OFF!" screamed Bagman.

*************************************

"Vell, ve fought bravely," said a gloomy voice behind me. I looked around; it was the Bulgarian Minister for Magic.

"You can speak English!" said Fudge, sounding outraged. "And you've been letting me mime everything all day!"

"Vell, it vos very funny," said the Bulgarian Minister, shrugging.

"And as the Irish team perform a lap of honour, flanked by their mascots, the Quidditch World Cup itself is brought into the Top Box!" roared Bagman.

My eyes were suddenly dazzled by a blinding white light, as the Top Box was magically illuminated so that everyone in the stands could see the inside. Squinting towards the entrance, I saw two panting wizards carrying into the box a vast golden cup, which they handed to Cornelius Fudge, who was still looking very disgruntled that he'd been using sign language all day for nothing. I laughed and silently applauded the man, he could give Fred and George a run for their title as too pranksters!

"Let's have a really loud hand for the gallant losers – Bulgaria!" Bagman shouted.

And up the stairs into the box came the seven defeated Bulgarian players. The crowd below were applauding appreciatively; I could see thousands and thousands of Omniocular lenses flashing and winking in our direction.

One by one, the Bulgarians filed between the rows of seats in the box, and Bagman called out the name of each as they shook hands with their own Minister and then with Fudge. Krum, who was last in line, looked a real mess. Two black eyes were blooming spectacularly on his bloody face. He was still holding the Snitch. I noticed that he seemed much less co-ordinated on the ground. He was slightly duck-footed and distinctly round-shouldered. But when Krum's name was announced, the whole stadium gave him a resounding, ear-splitting roar. As he went to stand next to his team-mates, I stepped to him and waved my wand.

"Episkey!" I muttered and smiled as the blood vanished. He looked at me in surprise as he mumbled a quick thanks; his eyes looking at me in curiosity.

And then came the Irish team. Aidan Lynch was being supported by Moran and Connolly; the second crash seemed to have dazed him and his eyes looked strangely unfocused. But he grinned happily as Troy and Quigley lifted the Cup into the air and the crowd below thundered their approval. My hands were numb with clapping.

At last, when the Irish team had left the box to perform another lap of honour on their brooms (Aidan Lynch on the back of Connolly's, clutching hard around his waist and still grinning in a bemused sort of way), Bagman pointed his wand at his throat and muttered "Quietus".

"They'll be talking about this one for years," he said hoarsely, "a really unexpected twist, that...shame it couldn't have lasted longer...ah yes...yes, I owe you...how much?"

For Fred and George had just scrambled over the backs of their seats, and were standing in front of Ludo Bagman with broad grins on their faces, their hands outstretched.

*************************************

In-line Comments

\- with her "charm" trait/ability or whatever you wanna call it, Kat is able to counter the Veela's affect on people

\- ohhh who think Kat is gonna get with Krum instead? Hehe I already know the answer but you'll just have to wait and find out :p


	8. The Dark Mark

Katrina's POV

"Don't tell your mother you've been gambling," Mr Weasley implored Fred and George, as we all made our way slowly down the purple-carpeted stairs.

"Don't worry, Dad," said Fred gleefully, "we've got big plans for this money, we don't want it confiscated."

Mr Weasley looked for a moment as though he was going to ask what these big plans were, but seemed to decide, upon reflection, that he didn't want to know.

We were soon caught up in the crowds now flooding out of the stadium and back to their campsites. Raucous singing was borne towards us on the night air as we retraced our steps along the lantern-lit path, and leprechauns kept shooting over our heads, cackling and waving their lanterns. When we finally reached the tents, nobody felt like sleeping at all and, given the level of noise around us, Mr Weasley agreed that we could all have one last cup of cocoa together before turning in. We were soon arguing enjoyably about the match; Mr Weasley got drawn into a disagreement about cobbing with Charlie, and it was only when Ginny fell asleep right at the tiny table and spilled hot chocolate all over the floor that Mr Weasley called a halt to the verbal replays, and insisted that everyone went to bed. Hermione and I carried Ginny into the next tent, before changing into our pajamas and clambering into bed. From the other side of the campsite we could still hear much singing, and the odd echoing bang. At first the loud sounds kept me awake, but eventually I was able to zone them out and fell fast asleep.

*************************************

I woke up halfway through the night to find a hand clamping down over my mouth as the other dragged me out of bed. I thrashed around and kicked with all my strength, but I couldn't escape the tight grip. I tried to look up and to the side to see who had a hold of me but the hand over my mouth made that impossible. I continued to struggle as I was pulled out of the tend and across the ground until something heavy struck my head and I passed out as a flash of pain echoed through my head.

Harry's POV

"Where's Kat?" Has anyone seen Kat!" I started to panic as I realized that Kat was nowhere in sight. Ron and I had been awakened in the middle of the night by Mr Weasley. Apparently a group of death eaters had decided to relive old times by torturing the Roberts family. I'd grabbed Ron and Hermione and we'd dashed off into the woods without a second thought. How had I not realized Kat had not been with us! I slapped my forehead as I turned around and started to run back the way we came.

But I stopped abruptly and looked over my shoulder. Hermione and Ron looked quickly around, too. It sounded as though someone was staggering towards our clearing. We waited, listening to the sounds of the uneven steps behind the dark trees. But the footsteps came to a sudden halt.

"Hello?" I called.

There was silence. I walked over and peered around a tree. It was too dark to see very far, but I could sense somebody standing just beyond the range of my vision.

"Who's there?" I said.

And then, without warning, the silence was rent by a voice unlike any we had heard in the wood; and it uttered, not a panicked shout, but what sounded like a spell.

"MORSMORDRE!"

And something vast, green and glittering erupted from the patch of darkness my eyes had been struggling to penetrate: it flew up over the treetops and into the sky.

"What the –?" gasped Ron, as he sprang to his feet again, staring up at the thing that had appeared.

For a split second, I thought it was another leprechaun formation. Then I realized that it was a colossal skull, composed of what looked like emerald stars, with a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue. As we watched, it rose higher and higher, blazing in a haze of greenish smoke, etched against the black sky like a new constellation.

Suddenly, the wood all around us erupted with screams. I didn't understand why, but the only possible cause was the sudden appearance of the skull, which had now risen high enough to illuminate the entire wood, like some grisly neon sign. I scanned the darkness for the person who had conjured the skull, but I couldn't see anyone.

"Who's there?" I called again.

"Harry, come on, move!" Hermione had seized the back of my jacket, and was tugging me backwards.

"What's the matter?" I said, startled to see her face so white and terrified.

"It's the Dark Mark, Harry!" Hermione moaned, pulling me as hard as she could. "You-Know-Who's sign!"

"Voldemort's –?"

"Harry, come on!"

I turned – Ron was hurriedly scooping up his miniature Krum – the three of us started across the clearing – but before we had taken more than a few hurried steps, a series of popping noises announced the arrival of twenty wizards, appearing from thin air, surrounding us.

I whirled around, and in a split second, I registered one fact: each of these wizards had their wand out, and every wand was pointing right at myself, Ron and Hermione. Without pausing to think, I yelled, "DUCK!" I seized the other two and pulled them down onto the ground.

"STUPEFY!" roared twenty voices – there was a blinding series of flashes and I felt the hair on my head ripple as though a powerful wind had swept the clearing. Raising my head a fraction of an inch I saw jets of fiery red light flying over us from the wizards' wands, crossing each other, bouncing off tree-trunks, rebounding into the darkness –

"Stop!" yelled a voice I recognized. "STOP! That's my son!"

My hair stopped blowing about. I raised my head a little higher. The wizard in front of me had lowered his wand. I rolled over and saw Mr Weasley striding towards us, looking terrified.

"Ron – Harry –" his voice sounded shaky, "– Hermione – are you all right? Have any of you seen Katrina? She wasn't with the others!" I felt my heart sink at Mr Weasley's words. Where was she!

"Out of the way, Arthur," said a cold, curt voice.

It was Mr Crouch. He and the other Ministry wizards were closing in on us. I got to my feet to face them. Mr Crouch's face was taut with rage.

"Which of you did it?" he snapped, his sharp eyes darting between us. "Which of you conjured the Dark Mark?"

"We didn't do that!" I said, gesturing up at the skull.

"We didn't do anything!" said Ron, who was rubbing his elbow, and looking indignantly at his father. "What did you want to attack us for?"

"Do not lie, sir!" shouted Mr Crouch. His wand was still pointing directly at Ron, and his eyes were popping – he looked slightly mad. "You have been discovered at the scene of the crime!"

"Barty," whispered a witch in a long woollen dressing-gown, "they're kids, Barty, they'd never have been able to –"

"Where did the Mark come from, you three?" said Mr Weasley quickly.

"Over there," said Hermione shakily, pointing at the place where they had heard the voice, "there was someone behind the trees...they shouted words – an incantation –"

"Oh, stood over there, did they?" said Mr Crouch, turning his popping eyes on Hermione now, disbelief etched all over his face. "Said an incantation, did they? You seem very well informed about how that Mark is summoned, missy –"

But none of the Ministry wizards apart from Mr Crouch seemed to think it remotely likely that Ron, Hermione, or I had conjured the skull; on the contrary, at Hermione's words, they had raised all their wands again, and were pointing in the direction she had indicated, squinting through the dark trees.

"We're too late," said the witch in the woollen dressing-gown, shaking her head. "They'll have Disapparated."

"I don't think so," said a wizard with a scrubby brown beard. It was Amos Diggory, Cedric's father. "Our Stunners went right through those trees...there's a good chance we got them..."

"Amos, be careful!" said a few of the wizards warningly, as Mr Diggory squared his shoulders, raised his wand, marched across the clearing and disappeared into the darkness. Hermione watched him vanish with her hands over her mouth.

A few seconds later, we heard Mr Diggory shout.

"Yes! We got them! There's two bodies here! Unconscious! It's – but – blimey..."

"You've got someone?" shouted Mr Crouch, sounding highly disbelieving. "Who? Who is it?"

We heard snapping twigs, the rustling of leaves, and then crunching footsteps as Mr Diggory re-emerged from behind the trees. He was carrying a limp figure in his arms. I recognized the figure. It was Katrina! Ron, Hermione, and I rushed over to her as Cedric's father went back and returned with a second limp figure. I recognized the tiny tea-towel at once. It was Winky.

Mr Crouch did not move or speak as Mr Diggory deposited Mr Crouch's elf on the ground at his feet. The other Ministry wizards were all staring from Katrina to Winky to Mr Crouch. For a few seconds Crouch remained transfixed, his eyes blazing in his white face as he stared down at Winky. Then he appeared to come to life again.

"This – cannot – be," he said jerkily. "No –"

He moved quickly around Mr Diggory and strode off towards the place where he had found Winky.

"No point, Mr Crouch," Mr Diggory called after him. "There's no one else there."

But Mr Crouch did not seem prepared to take his word for it. We could hear him moving around, the rustling of leaves as he pushed the bushes aside, searching.

"Bit embarrassing," Mr Diggory said grimly, looking down at Winky's unconscious form. "Barty Crouch's house-elf...I mean to say...consorting with the witch who conjured the mark...it doesn't look good..."

"It wasn't Katrina! She would never...she wouldn't even know how!" I shouted angrily. I looked closer at my best friend and froze as I noticed the state she was in. "She's bleeding!" Mr Weasley stooped down and pointed his wand at Kat. His wand lit her body up enough that we could all see the blood that oozed from the deep gash on her head. Mr Weasley mumbled a quick healing spell and I breathed a sigh of relief as the blood flow ceased and the gash closed.

"Come off it, Amos," said Mr Weasley quietly, "you don't seriously think it was either Katrina or the elf? The poor girl has been injured for Merlin's sake! It is more likely that she came across the person who did conjure it. As for the elf, the Dark Mark's a wizard's sign. It requires a wand."

"Yeah," said Mr Diggory, "and the elf had one."

"What?" said Mr Weasley.

"Here, look." Mr Diggory held up the wand and showed it to Mr Weasley. "Had it in her hand. So that's clause three of the Code of Wand Use broken for a start. No non-human creature is permitted to carry or use a wand. I think it's safe to assume that she forcibly took this from the girl.

Just then there was another pop, and Ludo Bagman Apparated right next to Mr Weasley. Looking breathless and disorientated, he spun on the spot, goggling upwards at the emerald green skull.

"The Dark Mark!" he panted, almost trampling Winky as he turned enquiringly to his colleagues. "Who did it? Did you get them? Barty! What's going on?"

Mr Crouch had returned empty-handed. His face was still ghostly white, and his hands and his toothbrush moustache were both twitching.

"Where have you been, Barty?" said Bagman. "Why weren't you at the match? Your elf was saving you a seat, too – Gulping gargoyles!" Bagman had just noticed Winky and Kat lying at his feet. "What happened to them?"

"I have been busy, Ludo," said Mr Crouch, still talking in the same jerky fashion, barely moving his lips. "And they have been Stunned."

"Stunned? By you lot, you mean? But why –?"

Comprehension dawned suddenly on Bagman's round, shiny face; he looked up at the skull, down at Katrina's blood stained face, over to Winky, and then at Mr Crouch.

"No!" he said. "The elf couldn't possibly have conjured the Dark Mark? She wouldn't know how! She would need a wand for a start!"

"And she had one," said Mr Diggory. "I found her holding this, Ludo. As I was just saying, it appears the elf assaulted the girl and took her wand. If it's all right with you, Mr Crouch, I think we should hear what the elf has got to say for herself...the girl as well after we've heard from the elf.

Crouch gave no sign that he had heard Mr Diggory, but Mr Diggory seemed to take his silence for assent. He raised his own wand, pointed it at Winky and said, "Rennervate!"

Winky stirred feebly. Her big brown eyes opened and she blinked several times in a bemused sort of way. Watched by the silent wizards, she raised herself shakily into a sitting position. She caught sight of Mr Diggory's feet, and slowly, tremulously, raised her eyes to stare up into his face; then, more slowly still, she looked up into the sky. I could see the floating skull reflected twice in her enormous, glassy eyes. She gave a gasp, looked wildly around the crowded clearing and burst into terrified sobs.

"Elf!" said Mr Diggory sternly. "Do you know who I am? I'm a member of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures!"

Winky began to rock backwards and forwards on the ground, her breath coming in sharp bursts. I was reminded forcibly of Dobby in his moments of terrified disobedience.

"As you see, elf, the Dark Mark was conjured here a short while ago," said Mr Diggory. "And you were discovered moments later, right beneath it! An explanation, if you please!"

"I – I – I is not doing it, sir!" Winky gasped. "I is not knowing how, sir!"

"You were found next to an injured witch and a wand in your hand!" barked Mr Diggory, brandishing it in front of her. "Did you steal this from her!" And as the wand caught the green light that was filling the clearing from the skull above, I recognized it.

"Hey – that's mine!" I said startled.

Everyone in the clearing looked at me.

"Excuse me?" said Mr Diggory, incredulously.

"That's my wand! Not Kat's!" I said. "I dropped it!"

"You dropped it?" repeated Mr Diggory in disbelief. "Is this a confession? You threw it aside after you conjured the Mark?"

"Amos, think who you're talking to!" said Mr Weasley, very angrily. "Is Harry Potter likely to injure one of his best friends and conjure the Dark Mark?"

"Er – of course not," mumbled Mr Diggory. "Sorry...carried away..."

"I didn't drop it there, anyway," I said, jerking my thumb towards the trees beneath the skull. "I missed it right after we got into the wood."

"So," said Mr Diggory, his eyes hardening as he turned to look at Winky again, cowering at his feet. "You found this wand, eh, elf? And you picked it up and thought you'd have some fun with it, did you? And then this girl came along and saw what you were doing?"

"I is not doing magic with it, sir" squealed Winky, tears streaming down the sides of her squashed and bulbous nose. "I is...I is...I is finding the girl on the ground and just picking it up, sir! I is not making the Dark Mark, sir, I is not knowing how!"

"So then you're saying it was the girl who conjured it? Then how was she injured? It certainly wasn't by any of our spells. That injury was caused by something physical, not magical."

"It wasn't Katrina or the elf!" said Hermione. She looked very nervous, speaking up in front of all these Ministry wizards, yet determined all the same. "We would have recognized if it was Katrina and Winky's got a squeaky little voice. The one we heard doing the incantation was much deeper!" She looked round at me and Ron, appealing for our support. "It didn't sound anything like Katrina or Winky, did it?"

"No," I said, shaking my head furiously. "It definitely didn't sound like Kat or Winky!"

"Yeah, it was a human voice, and a deep-throated one at that," said Ron.

"Well, we'll soon see," growled Mr Diggory, looking unimpressed. "There's a simple way of discovering the last spell a wand performed, elf, did you know that?"

Winky trembled and shook her head frantically, her ears flapping, as Mr Diggory raised his own wand again, and placed it tip to tip with mine.

"Prior Incantato!" roared Mr Diggory.

I heard Hermione gasp, horrified, as a gigantic serpent-tongued skull erupted from the point where the two wands met, but it was a mere shadow of the green skull high above us, it looked as though it was made of thick grey smoke: the ghost of a spell.

"Deletrius!" Mr Diggory shouted, and the smoky skull vanished in a wisp of smoke.

"So," said Mr Diggory with a kind of savage triumph, looking down upon Winky, who was still shaking convulsively.

"I is not doing it!" she squealed, her eyes rolling in terror. "I is not, I is not, I is not knowing how! I is a good elf, I isn't using wands, I isn't knowing how!"

"You've been caught red-handed, elf!" Mr Diggory roared. "Caught with the guilty wand in your hand and an injured girl at your feet!"

"Amos," said Mr Weasley loudly, '  
"think about it...precious few wizards know how to do that spell...where would she have learnt it?"

"Perhaps Amos is suggesting," said Mr Crouch, cold anger in every syllable, "that I routinely teach my servants to conjure the Dark Mark?"

There was a deeply unpleasant silence.

Amos Diggory looked horrified. "Mr Crouch...not...not at all..."

"You have now come very close to accusing the two people in this clearing who are least likely to conjure that Mark!" barked Mr Crouch. "Harry Potter – and myself - along with an unconscious and injured girl. I suppose you are familiar with the boy's story, Amos?"

"Of course – everyone knows –" muttered Mr Diggory, looking highly discomfited.

"And I trust you remember the many proofs I have given, over a long career, that I despise and detest the Dark Arts and those who practise them?" Mr Crouch shouted, his eyes bulging again.

"Mr Crouch, I – I never suggested you had anything to do with it!" muttered Amos Diggory, now reddening behind his scrubby brown beard.

"If you accuse my elf, you accuse me, Diggory!" shouted Mr Crouch. "Where else would she have learnt to conjure it?"

"She – she might've picked it up anywhere –"

"Precisely, Amos," said Mr Weasley. "She might have picked it up anywhere...Winky?" he said kindly, turning to the elf, but she flinched as though he, too, was shouting at her. "Where exactly did you find Harry's wand?"

Winky was twisting the hem of her tea-towel so violently that it was fraying beneath her fingers.

'I – I is finding it...finding it there, sir..."she whispered, "there...in the trees, sir...on the ground next to the girl."

"You see, Amos?" said Mr Weasley. "Whoever conjured the Mark could have Disapparated right after they'd done it, leaving Harry's wand behind. A clever thing to do, not using their own wand, which could have betrayed them. Katrina must have spotted him, so he hit her. And Winky here had the misfortune to come across her moments later and picked up the wand."

"But then, she'd have been feet away from the real culprit! Assuming it wasn't the girl! There's still a chance that she stole her friend's wand, conjured the mark, and injured herself to throw off suspicion!" said Mr Diggory impatiently. "Elf? Did you see anyone?"

Mr Weasley had to force me to stay on the ground next to Katrina - for I had attempted to lunge at Amos for daring to say Kat had anything to do with this, though a small part of me couldn't help hearing the potential truth to what he'd said. After all, out of everyone here, Katrina was certainly the only one directly tied to Voldemort - but after everything we'd been through, I was not about to make the mistake of doubting her loyalty again!

Winky began to tremble worse than ever. Her giant eyes flickered from Mr Diggory to Ludo Bagman, and on to Mr Crouch.

Then she gulped, and said, 'I is seeing no one, sir...no one...but the girl..."

"Well, then, let's wake her up and see what she has to say!" Mr Diggory pointed his wand at Kat and said, "rennervate!"

Katrina's POV

The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was darkness. Then a haze of green floating above me. I blinked wearily and made to sit up, but quickly realized that might not have been the best idea as pain laced across my skull. I moaned and felt my head. When I withdrew my hand, it was sticky but there was no cut. Someone must have recently healed me! But why?

"Wha...what happened?" I said aloud.

"That's what we would like to know, young lady!" an angry voice replied. It was only then that I noticed I wasn't alone. I was in a clearing of woods and surrounded by a number of wizards who were all looking at me. I looked behind me and saw my three best friends.

"Did you conjure it? Do not bother to lie! We can force the truth out of you if we must! Don't think because you are young and female that we won't do what is necessary!"

"C-conjure what?" I asked in complete confusion. What was this man talking about! And why was he so angry at me! I looked closer and recognized him as Cedric's father. "What are you talking about?"

Before Mr Diggory could respond, I saw Ron's dad hold a hand out for silence as he bent down to me.

"Katrina, what's the last thing you remember?"

I furrowed my brows as I tried to sift through my memory.

"Well...we watched the Quidditch game, went back to the tents, carried Ginny to bed when she fell asleep, and then Hermione and I changed clothes and also got into bed. I-I don't really remember much after that...I woke up in the middle of the night to find myself being dragged out of bed - but I couldn't tell who it was - I tried to get away, but I guess they must have hit me over the head...what is it that you think I did? And what is THAT!" I finished by pointing up to the green skull and snake, knowing that I wasn't going to like the answer. I had a nasty suspicion, but I was really hoping I was wrong.

"It's the Dark Mark, his mark," Mr Weasley whispered to me quietly. I shivered as my suspicion was confirmed.

"Okay...but why do you guys think I had anything to do with it? I wouldn't know how to conjure that monstrosity! Nor would I want to or have any reason to!"

"Amos was just...just being... cautious...look, the person you said grabbed you...can you tell us anything about them?" Mr Weasley said as he glared at Amos before turning back to me.

"Was it, for instance, an elf?" I looked at Mr Diggory in confusion then felt my eyes widen as I followed his gaze to Winky.

"Wait...you think Winky grabbed me? That she, she conjured...oh come on! You can't be serious! She'd need a wand!"

"She had one, she was found next to you with Harry's wand - which has been proven to be the wand that conjured the mark." Mr Diggory stated, his eyes still glaring between me and Winky in suspicion.

"But how did she get Harry's wand?" I looked over at Harry, none of this was making any sense.

"I must have dropped it when Ron, Hermione, and I were in the woods." He told me.

"But why were you in the woods to begin with?"

"I'll explain later," Harry whispered and I nodded uncertainly. Still extremely confused.

"Ok, so just to clarify, you think either I conjured the Dark Mark, or Winky did? But neither scenario makes sense! I just told you, I was in bed until I was rudely dragged away! And while I don't know who it was, it was definitely not Winky! She's a lot smaller than whoever grabbed me and certainly not strong enough!"

"Oh, you'd be surprised how strong elves can be —"

I opened my mouth to tell Mr Diggory again that Winky was innocent and that there was obviously a third person involved but he spoke over me.

"Keep quiet, girl, and consider yourself lucky that you have been ruled out as a suspect...for the time being. I find it highly suspicious that you claim to have been kidnapped and yet, were left behind. If the culprit had time to escape before we sent our stunning spells, they had time to take you with them!"

"Well, maybe Winky scared them off and they panicked!" I countered angrily. I did not appreciate being accused of lying!

"Even if that's true and the real culprit got away, the elf was in possession of a wand; which is against the law. I opened my mouth angrily to say that such a small detail could hardly be important right now but was cut off again, this time by another man I recognized as Mr Crouch.

"Amos," said Mr Crouch curtly, "I am fully aware that, in the ordinary course of events, you would want to take Winky into your department for questioning. I ask you, however, to allow me to deal with her. As for the girl, she is clearly innocent of any wrongdoing and cannot tell us anymore than she already has so there would be no point in bringing her in."

Mr Diggory looked as though he didn't think much of this suggestion at all, but it was clear to me that Mr Crouch was such an important member of the Ministry that he did not dare refuse him.

"You may rest assured that the elf will be punished," Mr Crouch added coldly.

"But she probably saved my life! Why should she be punished!" I shouted. But Mr Crouch ignored me.

"M-m-master..." Winky stammered, looking up at Mr Crouch, her eyes brimming with tears. "M-m-master, p-p-please..."

Mr Crouch stared back, his face somehow sharpened, each line upon it more deeply etched. There was no pity in his gaze. "Winky has behaved tonight in a manner I would not have believed possible," he said slowly. "I told her to remain in the tent. I told her to stay there while I went to sort out the trouble. And I find that she disobeyed me. This means clothes."

"No!" shrieked Winky, prostrating herself at Mr Crouch's feet. "No, master! Not clothes, not clothes!"

I knew that the only way to turn a house-elf free was to present it with proper garments. It was pitiful to see the way Winky clutched at her tea-towel as she sobbed over Mr Crouch's feet.

"But she was frightened!" Hermione burst out angrily, glaring at Mr Crouch. "Your elf's scared of heights, and those wizards in masks were levitating people! You can't blame her for wanting to get out of their way!" I looked at Hermione in confusion. Levitating people? What was she talking about? What had I missed!

Mr Crouch took a step backwards, freeing himself from contact with the elf, whom he was surveying as though she was something filthy and rotten that was contaminating his over-shined shoes.

"I have no use for a house-elf who disobeys me," he said coldly, looking up at Hermione. "I have no use for a servant who forgets what is due to her master, and to her master's reputation."

Winky was crying so hard that her sobs echoed around the clearing.

There was a very nasty silence, which was ended by Mr Weasley, who said quietly, "Well, I think I'll take my lot back to the tent, if nobody's got any objections. Amos, that wand's told us all it can – if Harry could have it back, please –"

Mr Diggory handed Harry his wand and Harry pocketed it.

"Come on, you four," Mr Weasley said quietly. But Hermione and I didn't move; our eyes still upon the sobbing elf. "Hermione! Katrina!" Mr Weasley said, more urgently. We turned and followed Harry and Ron out of the clearing and off through the trees.

"What's going to happen to Winky?" said Hermione, the moment we had left the clearing.

"I don't know," said Mr Weasley.

"The way they were treating her!" said Hermione furiously. "Mr Diggory, calling her 'elf' all the time...and Mr Crouch! He knows she's as innocent as Katrina and he's still going to sack her! He didn't care how frightened she'd been, or how upset she was – it was like she wasn't even human!"

"Well, she's not," said Ron.

Hermione rounded on him. "That doesn't mean she hasn't got feelings, Ron, it's disgusting the way –"

"Hermione, I agree with you," said Mr Weasley quickly, beckoning her on, "but now is not the time to discuss elf rights. I want to get back to the tent as fast as we can. What happened to the others?"

"We lost them in the dark," said Ron. "Dad, why was everyone so uptight about that skull thing?" I shivered at the mention of it and Harry pulled me in close.

"You ok, Kat? Is your head bothering you?"

"No, it feels fine Harry, it's just cold. I didn't exactly have time to grab a jacket, did I?" I tried to play it off, but I don't think Harry was fooled.

"I'll explain everything back at the tent," said Mr Weasley tensely.

But when we reached the edge of the wood, our progress was impeded.

A large crowd of frightened-looking witches and wizards were congregated there, and when they saw Mr Weasley coming towards them, many of them surged forwards. 'What's going on in there?' 'Who conjured it?' 'Arthur – it's not – him?'

"Of course it's not him," said Mr Weasley impatiently. "We don't know who it was, it looks like they Disapparated. Now excuse me, please, I want to get to bed."

He led Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I through the crowd and back into the campsite. All was quiet and I saw that several ruined tents were smoking. What the bloody hell had happened here!

Charlie's head was poking out of the boys' tent.

"Dad, what's going on?" he called through the dark. "Fred, George and Ginny got back ok, but the others –was Katrina with them?"

"I've got them here," said Mr Weasley, bending down and entering the tent. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I entered after him.

"Merlin's beard, Kat, what happened to you!" I looked at Charlie then to the rest of the Weasley's in surprise.

Bill was sitting at the small kitchen table, holding a bedsheet to his arm, which was bleeding profusely and Charlie had a large rip in his shirt, and Percy was sporting a bloody nose, yet I was the one they were all gawking at?  
Fred, George and Ginny looked unhurt, though shaken.

"Excuse me? You're one to talk! You guys look worse than I do!"

"No, no we don't!" Charlie held up a tin plate and I was able to see myself for the first time that night in the distorted reflection. I thought maybe he might have a point...though my head had been healed, there was still dried blood all over my face and at some point it had dripped down to soak the front of my pajamas. Charlie sat me down and took the wet rag George handed him and began to wipe the blood off as Bill looked at his father.

"Did you get them, Dad?" said Bill sharply. "The person who conjured the Mark?"

"No," said Mr Weasley. "We found Katrina passed out next to Barty Crouch's elf; who was holding Harry's wand, but we're none the wiser about who actually conjured the Mark."

"What?" said Bill, Charlie and Percy together.

"Harry's wand?" said Fred.

"Mr Crouch's elf?" said Percy, sounding thunderstruck.

"What happened to Katrina?" Charlie asked as he continued to clean my face gingerly.

With some assistance from Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I, Mr Weasley explained what had happened in the woods. When we had finished our story, Percy swelled indignantly.

"Well, Mr Crouch is quite right to get rid of an elf like that!" he said. "Running away when he'd expressly told her not to...embarrassing him in front of the whole Ministry...how would that have looked, if she'd gone up in front of the Department for the Regulation and Control –"

"She most likely saved my life, Percy, who knows what would have happened to me is she hadn't disobeyed orders on this one particular occasion!" I snapped and turned to face Percy as Hermione finished my sentence for me.

"Are you saying you would have preferred Winky not to have been there to help Kat?"

Percy looked very taken aback. Hermione and I had always got on fairly well with Percy – better, indeed, than any of the others.

"Of course I'm happy Katrina is safe, but a wizard in Mr Crouch's position can't afford a house-elf who's going to run amok with a wand!" said Percy pompously, recovering himself.

"She didn't run amok!" Hermione and I shouted. "She just picked it up off the ground!" I stood up and made to go stand in front of Percy but Charlie pushed me back down into my chair and glared at me to stay put until he was done. I muttered grumpily, crossed my arms, and glared at him but he just smiled and continued mopping up my blood.

"Look, can someone just explain what that skull thing was?" said Ron impatiently. "It wasn't hurting anyone...why's it such a big deal?"

"I told you, it's You-Know-Who's symbol, Ron," said Hermione, before anyone else could answer. "Kat and I read about it in The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts." I remembered what the passage had said and felt another shiver roll down my spine; causing Charlie to pause and look at me in concern. I rolled my eyes and motioned for him to continue with his work. He grinned and dunked the rag in a bowl of water Fred had brought over to him and wrung it out before raising it to my face once more.

"And it hasn't been seen for thirteen years," said Mr Weasley quietly. "Of course people panicked...it was almost like seeing You-Know-Who back again."

"I don't get it," said Ron, frowning. "I mean...it's still only a shape in the sky..."

"Ron, You-Know-Who and his followers sent the Dark Mark into the air whenever they killed," said Mr Weasley. "The terror it inspired...you have no idea, you're too young. Just picture coming home, and finding the Dark Mark hovering over your house, and knowing what you're about to find inside..." Mr Weasley winced. "Everyone's worst fear...the very worst..."

There was silence for a moment.

Then Bill, removing the sheet from his arm to check on his cut, said, "Well, it didn't help us tonight, whoever conjured it. It scared the Death Eaters away the moment they saw it. They all Disapparated before we'd got near enough to unmask any of them. We caught the Robertses before they hit the ground, though. They're having their memories modified right now."

"Death Eaters?" said Harry. "What are Death Eaters?"

"It's what You-Know-Who's supporters called themselves," said Bill. "I think we saw what's left of them tonight – the ones who managed to keep themselves out of Azkaban, anyway."

"We can't prove it was them, Bill," said Mr Weasley. "Though it probably was," he added hopelessly.

"Yeah, I bet it was!" said Ron suddenly. "Dad, we met Draco Malfoy in the woods, and he as good as told us his dad was one of those nutters in masks! And we all know the Malfoys were right in with You-Know-Who!"

"But what were Voldemort's supporters –" Harry began. Everybody but me flinched – like most of the wizarding world, the Weasleys always avoided saying Voldemort's name. I chose to emulate my grandfather and spoke the name like Harry did. "Sorry," said Harry quickly, though I didn't see a need for him to do so. "What were You-Know-Who's supporters up to, levitating Muggles? I mean, what was the point?"

"The point?" said Mr Weasley, with a hollow laugh. "Harry, that's their idea of fun. Half the Muggle killings back when You-Know-Who was in power were done for fun. I suppose they had a few drinks tonight and couldn't resist reminding us all that lots of them are still at large. A nice little reunion for them," he finished disgustedly.

"But if they were the Death Eaters, why did they Disapparate when they saw the Dark Mark?" said Ron. "They'd have been pleased to see it, wouldn't they?"

"Use your brains, Ron," said Bill. "If they really were Death Eaters, they worked really hard to keep out of Azkaban when You-Know-Who lost power, and told all sorts of lies about him forcing them to kill and torture people. I bet they'd be even more frightened than the rest of us to see him come back. They denied they'd ever been involved with him when he lost his powers, and went back to their daily lives...I don't reckon he'd be over-pleased with them, do you?"

"So...whoever conjured the Dark Mark..." said Hermione slowly, "were they doing it to show support for the Death Eaters, or to scare them away?"

"Your guess is as good as ours, Hermione," said Mr Weasley. "But I'll tell you this...it was only the Death Eaters who ever knew how to conjure it. I'd be very surprised if the person who did it hadn't been a Death Eater once, even if they're not now...Listen, it's very late, and if your mother hears what's happened she'll be worried sick. We'll get a few more hours' sleep and then try and get an early Portkey out of here."

I got back into my bunk with my head buzzing. I knew I ought to feel exhausted; it was nearly three in the morning, but I felt wide awake – wide awake, and worried.

Three days ago – it felt like much longer, but it had only been three days – I had awoken with my scar burning. And tonight, for the first time in thirteen years, Lord Voldemort's Mark had appeared in the sky. What did these things mean?

I thought of the letter I had written to my father before leaving Hermione's. Would Sirius have got it yet? When would he reply? Did this mean Harry really was in trouble! I lay looking up at the canvas, but it was a long time before I finally dozed off.

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In-line Comments

\- Ok let me know if this whole scenario makes sense! Haha been staring at it too long and was struggling with how to write in the additional accusations and assumptions etc etc so yeah...let me know what y'all thought!

\- awww poor Kat, Amos does not seem to like her anymore lol


	9. Mayhem at the Ministry

Katrina's POV

Mr Weasley woke us after only a few hours' sleep. He used magic to pack up the tents, and we left the campsite as quickly as possible, passing Mr Roberts at the door of his cottage. Mr Roberts had a strange, dazed look about him, and he waved us off with a vague 'Merry Christmas'.

"He'll be all right," said Mr Weasley quietly, as we marched off onto the moor. "Sometimes, when a person's memory's modified, it makes them a bit disorientated for a while...and that was a big thing they had to make him forget."

We heard urgent voices as we approached the spot where the Portkeys lay and, when we reached it, we found a great number of witches and wizards gathered around Basil, the keeper of the Portkeys, all clamouring to get away from the campsite as quickly as possible. Mr Weasley had a hurried discussion with Basil; we joined the queue, and were able to take an old rubber tyre back to Stoatshead Hill before the sun had really risen. We walked back through Ottery St Catchpole towards The Burrow in the dawn light, talking very little because we were so exhausted, and thinking longingly of breakfast. As we rounded the corner in the lane, and The Burrow came into view, a cry echoed along the damp lane.

"Oh, thank goodness, thank goodness!"

Mrs Weasley, who had evidently been waiting for us in the front yard, came running towards us, still wearing her bedroom slippers, her face pale and strained, a screwed-up copy of the Daily Prophet clutched in her hand. "Arthur – I've been so worried – so worried –"

She flung her arms around Mr Weasley's neck, and the Daily Prophet fell out of her limp hand onto the ground. Looking down, I saw the headline: SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP, complete with a twinkling, black-and-white photograph of the Dark Mark over the tree-tops.

"You're all right," Mrs Weasley muttered distractedly, releasing Mr Weasley and staring around at us all with red eyes, "you're alive...oh, boys..",

And to everybody's surprise, she seized Fred and George and pulled them both into such a tight hug that their heads banged together.

"Ouch! Mum – you're strangling us –"

"I shouted at you before you left!" Mrs Weasley said, starting to sob. "It's all I've been thinking about! What if You-Know-Who had got you, and the last thing I ever said to you was that you didn't get enough O.W.Ls? Oh, Fred... George..."

"Come on, now, Molly, we're all perfectly ok," said Mr Weasley soothingly, prising her off the twins and leading her back towards the house. "Bill," I heard him add in an undertone, "pick up that paper, I want to see what it says..."

When we were all crammed into the tiny kitchen, and Hermione and I had made Mrs Weasley a cup of very strong tea, into which Mr Weasley insisted on pouring a shot of Ogdens Old Firewhisky, Bill handed his father the newspaper. Mr Weasley scanned the front page while Percy looked over his shoulder.

"I knew it," said Mr Weasley heavily. "Ministry blunders...culprits not apprehended...lax security...Dark wizards running unchecked...national disgrace...Who wrote this? Ah...of course...Rita Skeeter."

"That woman's got it in for the Ministry of Magic!" said Percy furiously. "Last week she was saying we're wasting our time quibbling about cauldron thickness, when we should be stamping out vampires! As if it wasn't specifically stated in paragraph twelve of the Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans –"

"Do us a favour, Perce," said Bill, yawning, "and shut up." I couldn't help but giggle at this and Bill flashed me a tired grin.

"I'm mentioned," said Mr Weasley, his eyes widening behind his glasses as he reached the bottom of the Daily Prophet article.

"Where?" spluttered Mrs Weasley, choking on her tea and whisky. "If I'd seen that, I'd have known you were alive!"

"Not by name," said Mr Weasley. "Listen to this: "If the terrified wizards and witches who waited breathlessly for news at the edge of the wood expected reassurance from the Ministry of Magic, they were sadly disappointed. A Ministry official emerged some time after the appearance of the Dark Mark, alleging that nobody had been hurt, but refusing to give any more information. Whether this statement will be enough to quash the rumours that several bodies were removed from the woods an hour later, remains to be seen." Oh, really," said Mr Weasley in exasperation, handing the paper to Percy. "Nobody was hurt, what was I supposed to say?" I notice Harry kept looking at me at this and rolled my eyes at him. I wasn't hurt that bad! My head felt perfectly fine now!

"Rumours that several bodies were removed from the woods...well, there certainly will be rumours now she's printed that."

He heaved a deep sigh. "Molly, I'm going to have to go into the office, this is going to take some smoothing over."

"I'll come with you, Father," said Percy importantly. "Mr Crouch will need all hands on deck. And I can give him my cauldron report in person." I frowned as he bustled out of the kitchen, but said nothing. I didn't like Mr Crouch very much.

Mrs Weasley looked most upset. "Arthur, you're supposed to be on holiday! This hasn't got anything to do with your office, surely they can handle this without you?"

"I've got to go, Molly," said Mr Weasley, "I've made things worse. I'll just change into my robes and I'll be off ..."

"Mrs Weasley," said Harry suddenly, "Hedwig hasn't arrived with a letter for me, has she?" I looked at him in confusion than realized what he was really asking. "Has Salazar showed up as well?" I asked eagerly.

"Hedwig, Salazar?" said Mrs Weasley distractedly. "No...no, there hasn't been any post at all."

Ron and Hermione looked curiously at Harry and I.

With a meaningful look at Ron, Hermione, and I, Harry said, "All right if I go and dump my stuff in your room, Ron?"

"Yeah...think I will, too," said Ron at once. "Hermione? Kat?"

"Yes," we said quickly, and the four of us marched out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

"What's up, Harry?" said Ron, the moment we had closed the door of the attic room behind us.

"There's something I haven't told you"

"Hang on, Harry, there's something I haven't told you either!" The words burst forth before I had time to even think about what I was saying. But now that Harry looked as if he was about to share something big, I felt horrible for not having told him about my dream before now! I had to go first!

"On Saturday morning, I woke up with my scar hurting again!" I burst out. I paused as I noticed my words had a strange echo to them. I looked at Harry with wide eyes as I realized that he must have spoken at the same time I had.

"That's what I was gonna say!" We said at the same time.

"But that's not possible!" We said together again.

Ron and Hermione looked back and forth between us exasperatedly. Hermione, who already knew about my dream pointed to Harry and said, "you first, I've heard about Kat's dream already."

As Harry described his dream, my stomach clenched. It was clear we'd had the same one. What did that mean? Why had we had the same dream! Through my cloud of confusion, I did manage to note that Harry had refrained from telling Ron and Hermione who Voldemort had been trying to kill. Hermione,  
of course, noticed this as well, but kept quiet - as did I. It was clear Harry didn't want us worrying to much; not that he would be able to stop us from doing exactly that! Since neither Harry or I had mentioned the second target, the omission of that detail was only known by us two. Neither of us knew who the girl was, so it did not really make much of a difference.

Ron looked dumbstruck. "But – he wasn't there, was he? You-Know-Who? I mean – last time your scar kept hurting, he was at Hogwarts, wasn't he? And how come Kat had the same dream? What do you mean your scar hurt too! You don't have one! - do you?" It took a while for Harry and I to explain what Dumbledore had told us our first year. Ron looked so befuddled by it all it would have been hilarious under different circumstances. Hermione just nodded along, since I'd told her everything at the end of last year.

"It was only a dream," said Ron bracingly after he stopped staring from my scar to Harry's. Just a nightmare!"

"Yeah, but was it, though?" said Harry, turning to look out of the window at the brightening sky. "It's weird, isn't it...our scars hurt, and three days later the Death Eaters are on the march, and Voldemort's sign's up in the sky again." Harry looked sharply at me but decided not to mention my attempted kidnapping; for which I was grateful.

"Don't – say – his – name!" Ron hissed through gritted teeth.

"And remember what Professor Trelawney said?" Harry went on, ignoring Ron. "At the end of last year?"

Professor Trelawney was our Divination teacher at Hogwarts. Well not mine anymore since Hermione and I had quit the bloody subject.

Hermione's terrified look vanished as she let out a derisive snort. "Oh, Harry, you aren't going to pay any attention to anything that old fraud says?" I nodded my head in agreement.

"You weren't there," said Harry. "You didn't hear her. This time was different. I told you, she went into a trance – a real one. And she said the Dark Lord would rise again...greater and more terrible than ever before with the help of his...well...and he'd manage it because his servant was going to go back to him...and that night Wormtail escaped."

There was a silence in which Ron fidgeted absent-mindedly with a hole in his Chudley Cannons bedspread.

"Why were you asking if Hedwig had come, Harry?" Hermione asked. I know Kat's expecting a letter but are you as well?"

"I told Sirius about my scar," said Harry, shrugging. "I'm waiting for his answer."

"Me too!" I said looking at Harry in surprise. It was still so bizarre to think that he'd had the exact same dream. I wanted to send another letter but knew I should wait for the first response to arrive.

"Good thinking!" said Ron, his expression clearing. "I bet Sirius'll know what to do!"

"I hoped he'd get back to me quickly," said Harry.

"But we don't know where Sirius is...he could be in Africa or somewhere, couldn't he?" said Hermione reasonably. "Neither Hedwig or Salazar are going to manage that journey in a few days."

"Yeah, I know," said Harry, but there was a leaden tone in his voice that mirrored the feeling in my stomach.

"Come on, let's have a game of Quidditch in the orchard!" said Ron. "Come on – four on four, Bill and Charlie and Fred and George will play...you can try out the Wronski Feint..."

"Ron," said Hermione, in an I-don't-think-you're-being-very-sensitive sort of voice, "Harry and Katrina don't want to play Quidditch right now...they're worried, and tired...we all need to go to bed..."

"Yeah, I want to play Quidditch," said Harry and I together again. "Hang on, we'll get our Firebolts." Hermione shook her head as I lead the way to Ginny's room to get my broom. On the way out, I managed to bump Harry's shoulder and whisper a quick, "Jinx!" before dashing down the stairs, his laughter ringing in my ear.

After a rousing game of quidditch; which Harry and I's team won by a landslide, we all decided to go up to the nearby lake and go for a swim. I hurried back into the house with Hermione and sorted through my trunk to find the one bathing suit I owned. I had bought it when Hermione and I went shopping for new clothes in the beginning of the summer. I changed quickly and shifted uncomfortably as I stood before the mirror. I had listened to Hermione and bought it, thinking it had looked fine at the time, but for some reason I felt anxious about wearing it now. I had never worn a two-piece before and wasn't used to showing so much skin!

Hermione just shook her head as she tossed our two towels over her shoulders. "Would you stop squirming! You look great! I can't wait to see the boys' reaction when they see you in that!

"Hermione!" I squealed nervously. I tugged my towel off her shoulder and wrapped it around me protectively as my cheeks went tomato red. She just laughed wickedly and tugged it off me and ran down the stairs before I could yank it back. I shouted after her as I raced down the stairs behind her but slowed as I approached the bottom. It sounded like we were the last down...everyone would be out there!

"Kat, hurry up and come out! It's hot and I wanna get swimming already " Hermione came back out and pulled me forward into the room. I looked down at the floor as the silence reverberated throughout the room. Hermione laughed again and 'kindly' handed me back my towel with the sweetest look on her face. I growled as I wrapped it back around me and chased her out of the house.

"Yeah, you better run!" I yelled angrily. She squealed as I tackled her to the ground and found all her most ticklish spots. It was time for my revenge. All too soon though, I found myself being picked up and carried up the hill. I glared up at the redhead who was caring me.

"Why is it, princess, whenever I see you, you're glaring at me!"

"Because, Charlie, you always give me a reason to!" I retorted, not liking the look on his face. I looked behind him to see him make eye-contact with Bill, who was carrying Hermione. Fred and George, I saw, were similarly holding onto Harry and Ron. Oh no, I definitely wasn't going to like this!

We all screamed as two minutes later we were dunked into freezing cold water. I gasped for air as I came up and stared evilly at Charlie and Bill; though I grinned and high-fived Fred and George at the same time for getting one up on Harry and Ron!

"You're turn!" I shouted as I pulled my target's feet out from under them. Bill and Charlie went down. I laughed as they splashed into the water and I swam quickly behind Fred and George.

"Have no fear, m'lady! You're gallant knights will protect you!" They shouted together as they dunked their older brothers back under the water.

*************************************

Neither Mr Weasley nor Percy was at home much over the following week. Both left the house each morning before the rest of the family got up, and returned well after dinner every night.

"It's been absolute uproar," Percy told us importantly, the Sunday evening before we were due to return to Hogwarts. "I've been putting out fires all week. People keep sending Howlers and of course, if you don't open a Howler straight away, it explodes. Scorch marks all over my desk and my best quill reduced to cinders."

"Why are they all sending Howlers?" asked Ginny, who was mending her copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi with Spellotape on the rug in front of the living-room fire.

"Complaining about security at the World Cup," said Percy. "They want compensation for their ruined property. Mundungus Fletcher's put in a claim for a twelve-bedroomed tent with en-suite jacuzzi, but I've got his number. I know for a fact he was sleeping under a cloak propped on sticks."

Mrs Weasley glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. I liked this clock. It was completely useless if you wanted to know the time, but otherwise very informative. It had nine golden hands, and each of them was engraved with one of the Weasley family's names. There were no numerals around the face, but descriptions of where each family member might be. 'Home', 'school' and 'work' were there, but there was also 'lost', 'hospital', 'prison' and, in the position where the number twelve would be on a normal clock, 'mortal peril'.

Eight of the hands were currently pointing at the 'home' position, but Mr Weasley's, which was the longest, was still pointing at 'work'. Mrs Weasley sighed.

"Your father hasn't had to go into the office on weekends since the days of You-Know-Who," she said. "They're working him far too hard. His dinner's going to be ruined if he doesn't come home soon."

"Well, Father feels he's got to make up for his mistake at the match, doesn't he?" said Percy. "If truth be told, he was a tad unwise to make a public statement without clearing it with his Head of Department first –"

"Don't you dare blame your father for what that wretched Skeeter woman wrote!" said Mrs Weasley, flaring up at once. I had to agree with her. How could Percy say such a thing! He was turning more and more into Mr Crouch with each passing day. It wouldn't be long before they were announcing their wedding date!

"If Dad hadn't said anything, old Rita would just have said it was disgraceful that nobody from the Ministry had commented," said Bill, who was playing chess with Ron. "Rita Skeeter never makes anyone look good. Remember, she interviewed all the Gringotts curse breakers once, and called me 'a long-haired pillock'?" I giggled and covered my mouth. Bill was always saying things that made me giggle! He was almost as funny as the twins! But with him, it was more laughing at people's reaction to his wild appearance rather than some prank he'd just pulled off like with the twins. I liked Bill's style though...I just wish I had as much guts to wear something so bold! I silently promised myself to start being more like Bill in that sense. Hermione and I had worked on my powers over the summer and I could now change my hair to any color I wanted; though I had yet to master anything else. I smiled as I thought of how much fun I was going to have - assuming I didn't chicken out and keep it it's normal color!

"Well, it is a bit long, dear," said Mrs Weasley gently. "If you'd just let me –"

"No, Mum."

Rain lashed against the living-room window. Hermione was immersed in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4, copies of which Mrs Weasley had bought for her, Harry, Ron, and I in Diagon Alley. Charlie was darning a fireproof balaclava. Harry was polishing his Firebolt, the Broomstick Servicing Kit Hermione had given him for his thirteenth birthday open at his feet. Fred and George were sitting in a far corner, quills out, talking in whispers, their heads bent over a piece of parchment. I was sitting in the middle of the floor playing with Crookshanks and Drake. I made my little dragon promise to hold me to my goal to be more 'out there' this year.

"What are you two up to?"said Mrs Weasley sharply, I looked up from my conversation with Drake to see her eyes on the twins.

"Homework," said Fred vaguely.

"Don't be ridiculous, you're still on holiday," said Mrs Weasley.

"Yeah, we've left it a bit late," said George.

"You're not by any chance writing out a new order form, are you?" said Mrs Weasley shrewdly. "You wouldn't be thinking of restarting Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, by any chance?"

"Now, Mum," said Fred, looking up at her, a pained look on his face. "If the Hogwarts Express crashed tomorrow, and George and I died, how would you feel knowing that the last thing we ever heard from you was an unfounded accusation?"

Everyone laughed, even Mrs Weasley.

"Oh, your father's coming!" she said suddenly, looking up at the clock again.

Mr Weasley's hand had suddenly spun from 'work' to 'travelling'; a second later it had shuddered to a halt on 'home' with the others, and we heard him calling from the kitchen.

"Coming, Arthur!" called Mrs Weasley, hurrying out of the room.

A few moments later, Mr Weasley had come into the warm living room, carrying his dinner on a tray. He looked completely exhausted.

"Well, the fat's really in the fire now," he told Mrs Weasley as he sat down in an armchair near the fire and toyed unenthusiastically with his somewhat shrivelled cauliflower. "Rita Skeeter's been ferreting around all week, looking for more Ministry mess-ups to report. And now she's found out about poor old Bertha going missing, so that'll be the headline in the Prophet tomorrow. I told Bagman he should have sent someone to look for her ages ago."

"Mr Crouch has been saying it for weeks and weeks," said Percy swiftly. I swear, wedding bells would be ringing soon for those two!

"Crouch is very lucky Rita hasn't found out about Winky," said Mr Weasley irritably. "There'd be a week's worth of headlines in his house-elf being caught holding the wand that conjured the Dark Mark."

"I thought we were all agreed that that elf, while irresponsible, did not conjure the Mark?" said Percy hotly.

"If you ask me, Mr Crouch is very lucky no one at the Daily Prophet knows how mean he is to elves!" said Hermione angrily.

"Now, look here, Hermione!" said Percy. "A high-ranking Ministry official like Mr Crouch deserves unswerving obedience from his servants –" I looked at Percy, astonished at the words that had just come out of his mouth. Beside me, Drake turned a fiery red color as he hissed at Percy as well.

"His slave, you mean!" said Hermione, her voice rising shrilly. "Because he didn't pay Winky, did he?"

"I think you'd all better go upstairs and check that you've packed properly!" said Mrs Weasley, breaking up the argument. "Come on, now, all of you..."

Hermione and I joined Ginny as we packed up all our things.

'It's been over a week,' I said, looking at Salas's empty cage but not says anything else as Ginny was in the room. Hermione patted me on the back as she went to add her new textbooks to her trunk. I sighed again that night as I crossed my fingers and hoped for the millionth time that I would be getting a response soon.

*************************************

\- of course Harry knows the second target is Kat but he keeps it secret since he'd have to then tell her the full truth

\- Rita Skeeter; ruining lives since before she was born...I'd love to hear what she would have to say about Percy! And what his response would be!

\- yay! Now all three friends know about her scar! But the question is, what will happen if/when Rita finds out about it?

\- hehe can't wait to start messing around with Kat's hair and transformations! (Though of course the latter will have to remain only when Ron, Harry, and or Hermione are around so only so far I can go with it rn) but still, should be fun!

\- as always, comment your thoughts on this newest chapter! Tried to add my own little spin :) hope you enjoyed!


	10. Aboard the Hogwarts Express

AN - so sorry for the slow update! Been working on creating a interactive/visual version of this story on Episode! Check it out!

http://bit.ly/EpisodeHere #episode

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Katrina's POV

There was a definite end-of-the-holidays gloom in the air when I awoke next morning. Heavy rain was still splattering against the window as I got dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt; we would change into our school robes on the Hogwarts Express.

Hermione, Ginny, and I had just reached the first-floor landing on our way down to breakfast, when Mrs Weasley appeared at the foot of the stairs, looking harassed.

"Arthur!" she called up the staircase, "Arthur! Urgent message from the Ministry!"

I flattened myself against the wall as Mr Weasley came clattering past with his robes on back-to-front, and hurtled out of sight. When I and the others entered the kitchen, we saw Mrs Weasley rummaging anxiously in the dresser drawers – "I've got a quill here somewhere!" – and Mr Weasley bending over the fire, talking to –

I shut my eyes hard and opened them again to make sure that they were working properly.

Amos Diggory's head was sitting in the middle of the flames like a large bearded egg. It was talking very fast, completely unperturbed by the sparks flying around it and the flames licking its ears. I froze for a moment, not sure if this had to do with what happened at the Quidditch World Cup...was Amos here to take me away! I thought they'd decided I was innocent!

"...Muggle neighbors heard bangs and shouting, so they went and called those what-d'you-call-'ems – please-men. Arthur, you've got to get over there –"

I sighed in relief. It looked like this had nothing to do with me.

"Here!" said Mrs Weasley breathlessly, pushing a piece of parchment, a bottle of ink and a crumpled quill into Mr Weasley's hands.

"– it's a real stroke of luck I heard about it,' said Mr Diggory's head, "I had to come into the office early to send a couple of owls, and I found the Improper Use of Magic lot all setting off – if Rita Skeeter gets hold of this one, Arthur –"

"What does Mad-Eye say happened?" asked Mr Weasley, unscrewing the ink bottle, loading up his quill and preparing to take notes.

Mr Diggory's head rolled its eyes. "Says he heard an intruder in his yard. Says they were creeping towards the house, but they were ambushed by his dustbins."

"What did the dustbins do?" asked Mr Weasley, scribbling frantically.

"Made one hell of a noise and fired rubbish everywhere, as far as I can tell," said Mr Diggory. "Apparently one of them was still rocketing around when the please-men turned up –"

Mr Weasley groaned. "And what about the intruder?"

"Arthur, you know Mad-Eye," said Mr Diggory's head, rolling its eyes again. "Someone creeping into his yard at the dead of night? More likely there's a very shellshocked cat wandering around somewhere, covered in potato peelings. But if the Improper Use of Magic lot get their hands on Mad-Eye, he's had it – think of his record – we've got to get him off on a minor charge, something in your department – what are exploding dustbins worth?"

"Might be a caution," said Mr Weasley, still writing very fast, his brow furrowed. "Mad-Eye didn't use his wand? He didn't actually attack anyone?"

"I'll bet he leapt out of bed and started jinxing everything he could reach through the window," said Mr Diggory, "but they'll have a job proving it, there aren't any casualties."

"All right, I'm off," Mr Weasley said, and he stuffed the parchment with his notes on it into his pocket and dashed out of the kitchen again.

Mr Diggory's head looked around at Mrs Weasley.

"Sorry about this, Molly," it said, more calmly, "bothering you so early and everything...but Arthur's the only one who can get Mad-Eye off, and Mad-Eye's supposed to be starting his new job today. Why he had to choose last night..."

"Never mind, Amos," said Mrs Weasley. "Sure you won't have a bit of toast or anything before you go?"

"Oh, go on, then," said Mr Diggory.

Mrs Weasley took a piece of buttered toast from a stack on the kitchen table, put it into the fire tongs and transferred it into Mr Diggory's mouth.

"Fanks," he said in a muffled voice, and then, with a small pop, vanished.

I could hear Mr Weasley calling hurried goodbyes to Bill, Charlie, and Percy. Within five minutes, he was back in the kitchen, his robes on the right way now, dragging a comb through his hair.

"I'd better hurry – you have a good term, boys...and girl," said Mr Weasley to Harry, Ron, the twins, Hermione, Ginny, and I; dragging a cloak over his shoulders and preparing to Disapparate. "Molly, are you going to be all right taking the kids to King's Cross?"

"Of course I will," she said. "You just look after Mad-Eye, we'll be fine."

As Mr Weasley vanished, Bill and Charlie entered the kitchen.

"Did someone say Mad-Eye?" Bill asked. "What's he been up to now?"

"He says someone tried to break into his house last night," said Mrs Weasley.

"Mad-Eye Moody?" said George thoughtfully, spreading marmalade on his toast. "Isn't he that nutter –"

"Your father thinks very highly of Mad-Eye Moody," said Mrs Weasley sternly.

"Yeah, well, Dad collects plugs, doesn't he?" said Fred quietly, as Mrs Weasley left the room. "Birds of a feather..."

"Moody was a great wizard in his time," said Bill.

"He's an old friend of Dumbledore's, isn't he?" said Charlie. I looked up at the mention of my grandfather.

"Dumbledore's not what you'd call normal, though, is he?" said Fred. "I mean, I know he's a genius and everything..."

I opened my mouth to scold him, but realized it might only raise questions.

"Who is Mad-Eye?" asked Harry.

"He's retired, used to work at the Ministry," said Charlie. "I met him once when Dad took me into work with him. He was an Auror – one of the best...a Dark-wizard-catcher," he added, seeing Harry's blank look. "Half the cells in Azkaban are full because of him. He made himself loads of enemies, though...the families of people he caught, mainly...and I heard he's been getting really paranoid in his old age. Doesn't trust anyone any more. Sees Dark wizards everywhere."

Bill and Charlie decided to come and see us off at King's Cross station, but Percy, apologising most profusely, said that he really needed to get to work. Well whatever his brothers had to say about him, you couldn't question his work ethic. It was impeccable.

"I just can't justify taking more time off at the moment," he told us. "Mr Crouch is really starting to rely on me."

"Yeah, you know what, Percy?" said George seriously. "I reckon he'll know your name soon." I couldn't help but chuckle at this.

Mrs Weasley had braved the telephone in the village Post Office to order three ordinary Muggle taxis to take us into London.

"Arthur tried to borrow Ministry cars for us," Mrs Weasley whispered to Harry and I as we stood in the rain-washed yard, watching the taxi drivers heaving seven heavy Hogwarts trunks into their cars. "But there weren't any to spare...oh dear, they don't look happy, do they?"

I didn't like to tell Mrs Weasley that Muggle taxi drivers rarely transported over-excited owls, and Pigwidgeon was making an ear-splitting racket. Nor did it help that a number of Dr Filibuster's Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks went off unexpectedly when Fred's trunk sprang open, causing the driver carrying it to yell with fright and pain as Crookshanks clawed his way up the man's leg. Drake, Salazar, and Hedwig remained calm and collected the entire time of course!

The journey was uncomfortable, owing to the fact that we were jammed in the back of the taxis with our trunks. Crookshanks took quite a while to recover from the fireworks, and by the time we entered London, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I were all severely scratched. We were very relieved to get out at King's Cross, even though the rain was coming down harder than ever, and we got soaked carrying our trunks across the busy road and into the station.

I was used to getting onto platform nine and three-quarters by now. It was a simple matter of walking straight through the apparently solid barrier dividing platforms nine and ten. The only tricky part was doing this in an unobtrusive way, so as to avoid attracting Muggle attention. We did it in groups today; Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I (the most conspicuous, as we were accompanied by Pigwidgeon, Hedwig, Salazar, and Crookshanks - Drake was making his own way to the castle as he would have caused chaos) went first; we leant casually against the barrier, chatting unconcernedly, and slid sideways through it...and as we did so, platform nine and three-quarters materialised in front of us.

The Hogwarts Express, a gleaming scarlet steam engine, was already there, clouds of steam billowing from it, through which the many Hogwarts students and parents on the platform appeared like dark ghosts. Pigwidgeon became noisier than ever in response to the hooting of many owls through the mist. We set off to find seats, and were soon stowing their luggage in a compartment halfway along the train. We then hopped back down onto the platform, to say goodbye to Mrs Weasley, Bill and Charlie.

"I might be seeing you all sooner than you think," said Charlie, grinning, as he hugged me goodbye.

"Why?" said Fred keenly.

"You'll see," said Charlie. "Just don't tell Percy I mentioned it...it's "'classified information, until such time as the Ministry sees fit to release it' after all."

"Yeah, I sort of wish I was back at Hogwarts this year," said Bill, hands in his pockets, looking almost wistfully at the train.

"Why?" said George impatiently.

"You're going to have an interesting year," said Bill, his eyes twinkling. "I might even get time off to come and watch a bit of it..."

"A bit of what?" said Ron.

But at that moment, the whistle blew, and Mrs Weasley chivvied us towards the train doors.

"Thanks for having us to stay, Mrs Weasley," I said as we climbed on board, closed the door and leant out of the window to talk to her.

"Yeah, thanks for everything, Mrs Weasley," said Harry from my side.

"Oh, it was my pleasure, dears," said Mrs Weasley. "I'd invite you for Christmas, but...well, I expect you're all going to want to stay at Hogwarts, what with...one thing and another."

"Mum!" said Ron irritably. "What d'you three know that we don't?"

"You'll find out this evening, I expect," said Mrs Weasley, smiling. "It's going to be very exciting – mind you, I'm very glad they've changed the rules –"

"What rules?" said Harry, Ron, Fred and George together.

"I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will tell you...now, behave, won't you? Won't you, Fred? And you, George?"

The pistons hissed loudly, and the train began to move.

"Tell us what's happening at Hogwarts!" Fred bellowed out of the window, as Mrs Weasley, Bill and Charlie sped away from us. "What rules are they changing?"

But Mrs Weasley only smiled and waved. Before the train had rounded the corner, she, Bill and Charlie had Disapparated.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I went back to our compartment. The thick rain splattering the windows made it very difficult to see out of them. Ron undid his trunk, pulled out his maroon dress robes, and flung them over Pigwidgeon's cage to muffle his hooting.

"Bagman wanted to tell us what's happening at Hogwarts," he said grumpily, sitting down next to Harry. "At the World Cup, remember? But my own mother won't say. Wonder what –"

"Shh!" Hermione whispered suddenly, pressing her finger to her lips and pointing towards the compartment next to ours. We listened, and heard a familiar drawling voice drifting in through the open door.

"...Father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts, you know. He knows the Headmaster, you see. Well, you know his opinion of Dumbledore – the man's such a Mudblood-lover – and Durmstrang doesn't admit that sort of riff-raff. But Mother didn't like the idea of me going to school so far away. Father says Durmstrang takes a far more sensible line than Hogwarts about the Dark Arts. Durmstrang students actually learn them, not just the defence rubbish we do ..."

I clenched my teeth in anger as I heard the way he was talking about my grandfather. The little ferret! One of these days he was going to get burned!

Hermione got up, tiptoed to the compartment door, and slid it shut, blocking out Malfoy's voice.

"So he thinks Durmstrang would have suited him, does he?" she said angrily. "I wish he had gone, then we wouldn't have had to put up with him."

"Durmstrang's another wizarding school?" said Harry.

"Yes," said Hermione sniffily, "and it's got a horrible reputation. According to An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe, it puts a lot of emphasis on the Dark Arts."

"I think I've heard of it," said Ron vaguely. "Where is it? What country?"

"Well, nobody knows, do they?" I said, raising my eyebrows.

"Er – why not?" said Harry.

"There's traditionally been a lot of rivalry between all the magic schools. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons like to conceal their whereabouts so nobody can steal their secrets," answered Hermione for me.

"Come off it," said Ron, starting to laugh. "Durmstrang's got to be about the same size as Hogwarts, how are you going to hide a dirty great castle?"

"But Hogwarts is hidden," said Hermione, in surprise, "everyone knows that...well, everyone who's read Hogwarts: A History, anyway."

"Just you and Kat, then," said Ron. "So go on – how d'you hide a place like Hogwarts?"

"It's bewitched," I said. "If a Muggle looks at it, all they see is a mouldering old ruin with a sign over the entrance saying DANGER, DO NOT ENTER, UNSAFE."

"So Durmstrang'll just look like a ruin to an outsider, too?"

"Maybe," said Hermione, shrugging, "or it might have Muggle-Repelling Charms on it, like the World Cup Stadium. And to keep foreign wizards from finding it, they'll have made it Unplottable –"

"Come again?"

"Well, you can enchant a building so it's impossible to plot on a map, can't you?" I explained.

"Er...if you say so," said Harry.

"But I think Durmstrang must be somewhere in the far north," said Hermione thoughtfully. "Somewhere very cold, because they've got fur capes as part of their uniforms."

"Ah, think of the possibilities," said Ron dreamily. "It would've been so easy to push Malfoy off a glacier and make it look like an accident...shame his mother likes him..."

The rain became heavier and heavier as the train moved further north. The sky was so dark and the windows so steamy that the lanterns were lit by midday. The lunch trolley came rattling along the corridor, and Harry bought a large stack of Cauldron Cakes for us to share.

Several of out friends looked in on us as the afternoon progressed, including Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas and Neville Longbottom. Seamus was still wearing his Ireland rosette and he and Seamus kept glancing at me strangely the entire time. It was a little off putting. Some of the rosette's magic seemed to be wearing off now; it was still squeaking 'Troy! Mullet! Moran!', but in a very feeble and exhausted sort of way.

After half an hour or so, Hermione, growing tired of the endless Quidditch talk, buried herself once more in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4, and started trying to learn a Summoning Charm.

I noticed Neville listening jealously to our' conversation as we relived the Cup match.

"Gran didn't want to go," he said miserably. "Wouldn't buy tickets. It sounded amazing, though."

"It was," said Ron. "Look at this, Neville..."

He rummaged in his trunk up in the luggage rack, and pulled out the miniature figure of Viktor Krum.

"Oh, wow," said Neville enviously, as Ron tipped Krum onto his pudgy hand.

"We saw him right up close, as well," said Ron. "We were in the Top Box –"

"For the first and last time in your life, Weasley."

Draco Malfoy had appeared in the doorway. Behind him stood Crabbe and Goyle, his enormous, thuggish cronies, both of whom appeared to have grown at least a foot during the summer. Evidently they had overheard the conversation through the compartment door, which Dean and Seamus had left ajar.

"Don't remember asking you to join us, Malfoy," said Harry coolly.

"Weasley...what is that?" said Draco, pointing at Pigwidgeon's cage. A sleeve of Ron's dress robes was dangling from it, swaying with the motion of the train, the mouldy lace cuff very obvious.

Ron made to stuff the robes out of sight, but Draco was too quick for him; he seized the sleeve and pulled.

"Look at this!" said Draco in ecstasy, holding up Ron's robes and showing Crabbe and Goyle. "Weasley, you weren't thinking of wearing these, were you? I mean – they were very fashionable in about 1890..."

"Eat dung, Malfoy!" said Ron, the same colour as the dress robes as he snatched them back out of Draco's grip. Draco howled with derisive laughter; Crabbe and Goyle guffawed stupidly.

"So...going to enter, Weasley? Going to try and bring a bit of glory to the family name? There's money involved as well, you know...you'd be able to afford some decent robes if you won..." Draco noticed me glaring angrily at him and hesitated.

"What are you talking about?" snapped Ron.

"Are you going to enter?" Malfoy repeated. "I suppose you will, Potter? You never miss a chance to show off, do you?"

"Either explain what you're on about or go away, Malfoy," said Hermione testily, over the top of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4.

A gleeful smile spread across Draco's pale face.

"Don't tell me you don't know?" he said delightedly. "You've got a father and brother at the Ministry and you don't even know? My God, my father told me about it ages ago...heard it from Cornelius Fudge. But then, Father's always associated with the top people at the Ministry...maybe your father's too junior to know about it, Weasley...yes...they probably don't talk about important stuff in front of him..."

Laughing once more, Draco beckoned to Crabbe and Goyle, and the three of them disappeared.

Ron got to his feet and slammed the sliding compartment door so hard behind them that the glass shattered.

"Ron!" said Hermione reproachfully, and she pulled out her wand, muttered "Reparo!", and the glass shards flew back into a single pane, and back into the door.

"Well...making it look like he knows everything and we don't..." Ron snarled. "Father's always associated with the top people at the Ministry...Dad could've got promoted any time...he just likes it where he is..."

"Of course he does," said Hermione quietly. "Don't let Malfoy get to you, Ron –"

"Him! Get to me! As if!" said Ron, picking up one of the remaining Cauldron Cakes and squashing it into a pulp.

Ron's bad mood continued for the rest of the journey. He didn't talk much as we changed into our school robes, and was still glowering when the Hogwarts Express slowed down at last, and finally stopped in the pitch-darkness of Hogsmeade station.

As the train doors opened, there was a rumble of thunder overhead. Hermione bundled Crookshanks up in her cloak and Ron left his dress robes over Pigwidgeon as we left the train, heads bent and eyes narrowed against the downpour. Harry threw his arm around me and pulled me in close.

The rain was now coming down so thick and fast that it was as though buckets of ice-cold water were being emptied repeatedly over our heads.

"Hi, Hagrid!" Harry yelled, as we spotted a gigantic silhouette at the far end of the platform.

"All righ', Harry, Katrina?" Hagrid bellowed back, waving. "See yeh at the feast if we don' drown!"

First-years traditionally reached Hogwarts castle by sailing across the lake with Hagrid.

"Oooh, I wouldn't fancy crossing the lake in this weather," said Hermione fervently, shivering as we inched slowly along the dark platform with the rest of the crowd. A hundred horseless carriages stood waiting for us outside the station. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, and I climbed gratefully into one of them, the door shut with a snap, and a few moments later, with a great lurch, the long procession of carriages was rumbling and splashing its way up the track towards Hogwarts castle.

*************************************

\- Don't worry Draco and Kat will go back to being on good terms at some point :)

\- so excited - the story is finally about to really get started in the next few chapters!

\- as always, comment share and continue to enjoy


	11. The Triwizard Tournament

Katrina's POV

Through the gates, flanked with statues of winged boars, and up the sweeping drive the carriages trundled, swaying dangerously in what was fast becoming a gale. Leaning against the window, I could see Hogwarts coming nearer, its many lighted windows blurred and shimmering behind the thick curtain of rain. Lightning flashed across the sky as our carriage came to a halt before the great oak front doors, which stood at the top of a flight of stone steps.

People who had occupied the carriages in front were already hurrying up the stone steps into the castle; Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, and I jumped down from our carriage and dashed up the steps too, looking up only when we were safely inside the cavernous, torch-lit Entrance Hall, with its magnificent marble staircase.

"Blimey," said Ron, shaking his head and sending water everywhere, "if that keeps up, the lake's going to overflow. I'm soak– ARGH!"

A large, red, water-filled balloon had dropped from out of the ceiling onto Ron's head, and exploded. Drenched and spluttering, Ron staggered sideways into Harry, just as a second water bomb dropped – narrowly missing Hermione, it burst at Harry's feet, sending a wave of cold water over his trainers into his socks. People all around us shrieked and started pushing each other in their efforts to get out of the line of fire – I looked up, and saw, floating twenty feet above them, Peeves the poltergeist, a little man in a bell-covered hat and orange bow-tie, his wide, malicious face contorted with concentration as he took aim again. I laughed and gave him a thumbs up as I ducked behind a stone statue. He grinned and winked at me as he swooped over our heads again.

"PEEVES!" yelled an angry voice. "Peeves, come down here at ONCE!"

Professor McGonagall, deputy headmistress and Head of Gryffindor house, had come dashing out of the Great Hall; she skidded on the wet floor and grabbed Hermione around the neck to stop herself falling. "Ouch – sorry, Miss Granger –"

"That's all right, Professor!" Hermione gasped, massaging her throat.

"Peeves, get down here NOW!" barked Minnie, straightening her pointed hat and glaring upwards through her square-rimmed spectacles.

"Not doing nothing!" cackled Peeves, lobbing a water bomb at several fifth-year girls, who screamed and dived into the Great Hall. "Already wet, aren't they? Little squirts! Wheeeeeeeeee!" And he aimed another bomb at a group of second-years who had just arrived. I covered my mouth with my hand as I tried not to laugh.

"I shall call the Headmaster!" shouted Professor McGonagall. "I'm warning you, Peeves –"

Peeves stuck out his tongue, threw the last of his water bombs into the air, and zoomed off up the marble staircase, cackling insanely.

"Well, move along, then!" said Professor McGonagall sharply to the bedraggled crowd. "Into the Great Hall, come on!"

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I slipped and slid across the Entrance Hall and through the double doors on the right, Ron muttering furiously under his breath as he pushed his sopping hair off his face.

The Great Hall looked its usual splendid self, decorated for the start-of-term feast. Golden plates and goblets gleamed by the light of hundreds and hundreds of candles, floating over the tables in mid-air. The four long house tables were packed with chattering students; at the top of the Hall, the staff sat along one side of a fifth table, facing their pupils. It was much warmer in here. We walked past the Slytherins, the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs, and sat down with the rest of the Gryffindors at the far side of the Hall, next to Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost. Pearly white and semi-transparent, Nick was dressed tonight in his usual doublet, with a particularly large ruff, which served the dual purpose of looking extra festive and ensuring that his head didn't wobble too much on his partially severed neck.

"Good evening," he said, beaming at us.

"Says who?" said Harry, taking off his trainers and emptying them of water. "Hope they hurry up with the Sorting, I'm starving."

Just then, a highly excited, breathless voice called down the table, "Hiya, Harry! Hiya Kat!"

It was Colin Creevey, a third-year to whom Harry and I were something of a hero.

"Hi, Colin," said Harry warily.

'Harry, Katrina, guess what? Guess what, my brother's starting! My brother Dennis!"

"Er – good," said Harry and I.

"He's really excited!" said Colin, practically bouncing up and down in his seat. "I just hope he's in Gryffindor! Keep your fingers crossed, eh, Harry, eh, Katrina?"

"Er – yeah, all right," we said. Harry turned back to Hermione, Ron and Nearly Headless Nick. "Brothers and sisters usually go in the same houses, don't they?" he said. I could tell he was judging by the Weasleys, all seven of whom had been put into Gryffindor.

"Oh, no, not necessarily," said Hermione. "Parvati Patil's twin's in Ravenclaw, and they're identical, you'd think they'd be together, wouldn't you?"

I looked up at the staff table. There seemed to be rather more empty seats there than usual. Hagrid, of course, was still fighting his way across the lake with the first-years; Professor McGonagall was presumably supervising the drying of the Entrance Hall floor, but there was another empty chair, too, where our new DADA teacher should be.

"Where's the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?" said Hermione, who was also looking up at the teachers.

We had never yet had a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher who had lasted more than three terms. My favourite by far had been Professor Lupin, who had resigned last year. I looked up and down the staff table. There was definitely no new face there.

"Maybe they couldn't get anyone!" said Hermione, looking anxious.

I scanned the table more carefully. Tiny little Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was sitting on a large pile of cushions beside Professor Sprout, the Herbology teacher, whose hat was askew over her flyaway grey hair. She was talking to Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department. On Professor Sinistra's other side was my godfather, Severus Snape – Harry's least favourite person at Hogwarts. Harry's loathing of Snape was matched only by Snape's hatred of him, a hatred which had, if possible, intensified last year, when Harry had helped my father, Sirius, escape right under Sev's nose – Snape and Sirius had been enemies since their own schooldays. As for me, I just wished they could all get along!

On Sev's other side was an empty seat, which I guessed was Minnie's. Next to it, and in the very centre of the table, sat my grandfather, the Headmaster, his sweeping silver hair and beard shining in the candlelight, his magnificent deep-green robes embroidered with many stars and moons. The tips of Dumbledore's long, thin fingers were together and he was resting his chin upon them, staring up at the ceiling through his half-moon spectacles as though lost in thought.

I glanced up at the ceiling, too. It was enchanted to look like the sky outside, and I had never seen it look this stormy. Black and purple clouds were swirling across it, and as another thunderclap sounded outside, a fork of lightning flashed across it.

"Oh, hurry up," Ron moaned, beside Harry. "I could eat a Hippogriff." I frowned as I thought of my mother; who lived on in the body of a hippogriff.

The words were no sooner out of his mouth than the doors of the Great Hall opened, and silence fell. Professor McGonagall was leading a long line of first-years up to the top of the Hall. If Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I were wet, it was nothing to how these first-years looked. They appeared to have swum across the lake rather than sailing. All of them were shivering with a combination of cold and nerves as they filed along the staff table and came to a halt in a line facing the rest of the school – all of them except the smallest of the lot, a boy with mousey hair, who was wrapped in what I recognised as Hagrid's moleskin overcoat. The coat was so big for him that it looked as though he was draped in a furry black marquee. His small face protruded from over the collar, looking almost painfully excited. When he had lined up with his terrified-looking peers, he caught Colin Creevey's eye, gave a double thumbs-up and mouthed, "I fell in the lake!" He looked positively delighted about it.

Professor McGonagall now placed a three-legged stool on the ground before the first-years and, on top of it, an extremely old, dirty, patched wizard's hat.

The Great Hall rang with applause as the Sorting Hat finished.

"That's not the song it sang when it sorted us," said Harry, clapping along with everyone else.

"Sings a different one every year," said Ron. "It's got to be a pretty boring life, hasn't it, being a hat? I suppose it spends all year making up the next one."

Professor McGonagall was now unrolling a large scroll of parchment.

"When I call out your name, you will put on the Hat and sit on the stool," she told the first-years. "When the Hat announces your house, you will go and sit at the appropriate table. I slumped in my chair as I watched each first year get sorted. I couldn't help but resent the fact that I had never had the honor or getting sorted myself.

I clapped half heartedly along with the Gryffindors, as Dennis Creevey was sorted into Gryffindor and joined his brother. I frowned though as I heard them whispering and looking at Harry and I. I looked away hurriedly and tried to refocus on the sorting, but that didn't make me feel any better.

The Sorting continued; boys and girls with varying degrees of fright on their faces moving, one by one, to the three-legged stool, the line dwindling slowly as Professor McGonagall passed the 'L's.

Ron was complaining about being hungry and I kicked him under the table as he got into an argument with Nearly Headless Nick.

And finally, with "Whitby, Kevin!" ('Hufflepuff!') the Sorting ended. Professor McGonagall picked up the Hat and the stool, and carried them away.

"About time," said Ron, seizing his knife and fork and looking expectantly at his golden plate.

Professor Dumbledore had got to his feet. He was smiling around at the students, his arms opened wide in welcome.

"I have only two words to say to you," he told us, his deep voice echoing around the Hall. "Tuck in."

"Hear, hear!" said Harry and Ron loudly, as the empty dishes filled magically before their eyes.

Nearly Headless Nick watched mournfully as Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I loaded our plates.

"Aaah, 'at's be'er," said Ron, with his mouth full of mashed potato.

"You're lucky there's a feast at all tonight, you know," said Nearly Headless Nick. "There was trouble in the kitchens earlier."

"Why? Wha' 'appened?" said Harry, through a sizeable chunk of steak.

"Peeves, of course," said Nearly Headless Nick, shaking his head, which wobbled dangerously. He pulled his ruff a little higher up his neck. "The usual argument, you know. He wanted to attend the feast – well, it's quite out of the question, you know what he's like, utterly uncivilised, can't see a plate of food without throwing it. We held a ghosts' council – the Fat Friar was all for giving him the chance – but most wisely, in my opinion, the Bloody Baron put his foot down."

The Bloody Baron was the Slytherin ghost, a gaunt and silent spectre covered in silver bloodstains. He was the only person besides me at Hogwarts who could really control Peeves.

"Yeah, we thought Peeves seemed hacked off about something," said Ron darkly. "So what did he do in the kitchens?"

"Oh, the usual," said Nearly Headless Nick, shrugging. "Wreaked havoc and mayhem. Pots and pans everywhere. Place swimming in soup. Terrified the house-elves out of their wits –"

Clang. Hermione had knocked over her golden goblet. Pumpkin juice spread steadily over the tablecloth, staining several feet of white linen orange, but Hermione paid no attention.

"There are house-elves here?" she said, staring, horror-struck, at Nearly Headless Nick. "Here at Hogwarts?"

"Certainly," said Nearly Headless Nick, looking surprised at her reaction. "The largest number in any dwelling in Britain, I believe. Over a hundred."

"I've never seen one!" said Hermione.

"Well, they hardly ever leave the kitchen by day, do they?" said Nearly Headless Nick. "They come out at night to do a bit of cleaning...see to the fires and so on...I mean, you're not supposed to see them, are you? That's the mark of a good house-elf, isn't it, that you don't know it's there?"

Hermione stared at him.

"But they get paid?" she said. "They get holidays, don't they? And – and sick leave, and pensions and everything?"

Nearly Headless Nick chortled so much that his ruff slipped and his head flopped off, dangling on the inch or so of ghostly skin and muscle that still attached it to his neck.

"Sick leave and pensions?" he said, pushing his head back onto his shoulders and securing it once more with his ruff. "House-elves don't want sick leave and pensions!"

Hermione looked down at her hardly touched plate of food, then put her knife and fork down upon it and pushed it away from her.

"Oh, c'mon, 'Er-my-knee," said Ron, accidentally spraying Harry with bits of Yorkshire pudding. "Oops – sorry, 'Arry –" He swallowed. "You won't get them sick leave by starving yourself!"

"Slave labour," said Hermione, breathing hard through her nose. "That's what made this dinner. Slave labour."

"Oh, come on, Hermione!" I said rolling my eyes and lowering my voice. "Grandfather treats them very well! He's offered to pay them and give them weekends off but they refuse! House elves like the work!"

Hermione stared at me. "You mean you knew!"

"Of course I know there are house elves at Hogwarts! I ran across them last year. How do you think I got the food for our little sleepover at the end of year?" Hermione glared at me and refused to eat another bite no matter how hard I tried to cajole her into it.

The rain was still drumming heavily against the high, dark windows. Another clap of thunder shook the windows, and the stormy ceiling flashed, illuminating the golden plates as the remains of the first course vanished and were replaced, instantly, with puddings.

"Treacle tart, Hermione!" said Ron, deliberately wafting its smell towards her. "Spotted dick, look! Chocolate gateau!"

But Hermione gave him a look so reminiscent of Professor McGonagall that he gave up.

When the puddings, too, had been demolished, and the last crumbs had faded off the plates, leaving them sparkling clean, Albus Dumbledore got to his feet again. The buzz of chatter filling the Hall ceased almost at once, so that only the howling wind and pounding rain could be heard.

"So!" said Dumbledore, smiling around at us all. "Now that we are all fed and watered" ('Hmph!' said Hermione), "I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices. Mr Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr Filch's office, if anybody would like to check it."

The corners of grandfather's mouth twitched.

He continued, "As ever, I would like to remind you all that the Forest in the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year. It is also my painful duty to inform you that the inter-house Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."

"What?" Harry and I gasped. We looked around at Fred and George, our fellow members of the Quidditch team. They were mouthing soundlessly at Dumbledore, apparently too appalled to speak.

Grandfather continued, "This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy – but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts –"

But at that moment, there was a deafening rumble of thunder, and the doors of the Great Hall banged open.

A man stood in the doorway, leaning upon a long staff, shrouded in a black travelling cloak. Every head in the Great Hall swivelled towards the stranger, suddenly brightly illuminated by a fork of lightning that flashed across the ceiling. He lowered his hood, shook out a long mane of grizzled, dark grey hair, then began to walk up towards the teachers' table.

A dull clunk echoed through the Hall on his every other step. He reached the end of the top table, turned right and limped heavily towards Dumbledore. Another flash of lightning crossed the ceiling. Hermione and I gasped.

The lightning had thrown the man's face into sharp relief, and it was a face unlike any I had ever seen. It looked as though it had been carved out of weathered wood by someone who had only the vaguest idea of what human faces were supposed to look like, and was none too skilled with a chisel. Every inch of skin seemed to be scarred. The mouth looked like a diagonal gash, and a large chunk of the nose was missing. But it was the man's eyes that made him frightening.

One of them was small, dark and beady. The other was large, round as a coin, and a vivid, electric blue. The blue eye was moving ceaselessly, without blinking, and was rolling up, down and from side to side, quite independently of the normal eye – and then it rolled right over, pointing into the back of the man's head, so that all we could see was whiteness.

The stranger reached Dumbledore. He stretched out a hand that was as badly scarred as his face, and Dumbledore shook it, muttering words I couldn't hear. He seemed to be making some enquiry of the stranger, who shook his head unsmilingly and replied in an undertone. Dumbledore nodded, and gestured the man to the empty seat on his right-hand side.

The stranger sat down, shook his mane of dark grey hair out of his face, pulled a plate of sausages towards him, raised it to what was left of his nose and sniffed it. He then took a small knife out of his pocket, speared a sausage on the end of it, and began to eat. His normal eye was fixed upon the sausages, but the blue eye was still darting restlessly around in its socket, taking in the Hall and the students.

"May I introduce our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher," said grandfather brightly, into the silence. "Professor Moody."

It was usual for new staff members to be greeted with applause, but none of the staff or students clapped except Dumbledore and Hagrid. Both put their hands together and applauded, but the sound echoed dismally into the silence, and they stopped fairly quickly. Everyone else seemed too transfixed by Moody's bizarre appearance to do more than stare at him.

"Moody?" Harry muttered to Ron. "Mad-Eye Moody? The one your dad went to help this morning?"

"Must be," said Ron, in a low, awed voice.

"What happened to him?" Hermione whispered. "What happened to his face?"

"Dunno," Ron whispered back, watching Moody with fascination.

Moody seemed totally indifferent to his less-than-warm welcome. Ignoring the jug of pumpkin juice in front of him, he reached again into his travelling cloak, pulled out a hip-flask, and took a long draught from it. As he lifted his arm to drink, his cloak was pulled a few inches from the ground, and I saw, below the table, several inches of carved wooden leg, ending in a clawed foot.

Dumbledore cleared his throat again.

"As I was saying," he said, smiling at the sea of students before him, all of whom were still gazing transfixed at Mad-Eye Moody, "we are to have the honour of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event which has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

"You're JOKING!" said Fred Weasley loudly.

The tension that had filled the Hall ever since Moody's arrival suddenly broke.

Nearly everyone laughed, and Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively.

"I am not joking, Mr Weasley," he said, "though, now you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag and a leprechaun who all go into a bar –"

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat loudly.

"Er – but maybe this is not the time...no..." said Dumbledore. "Where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament...well, some of you will not know what this Tournament involves, so I hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely. The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago, as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry – Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the Tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities – until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the Tournament was discontinued."

"Death toll?" Hermione whispered, looking alarmed. But her anxiety did not seem to be shared by the majority of students in the Hall; many of them were whispering excitedly with each other.

"There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the Tournament," Dumbledore continued, "none of which have been very successful. However, our own Departments of International Magical Co-operation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt. We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that, this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger. The Heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money."

"I'm going for it!" Fred Weasley hissed down the table, his face lit with enthusiasm at the prospect of such glory and riches. He was not the only person who seemed to be visualising themself as Hogwarts champion. At every house table, I could see people either gazing raptly at Dumbledore, or else whispering fervently to their neighbours. But then Dumbledore spoke again, and the Hall quietened once more.

"Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts," he said, "the Heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age – that is to say, seventeen years or older – will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration. This" – Dumbledore raised his voice slightly, for several people had made noises of outrage at these words, and the Weasley twins were suddenly looking furious – "is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the Tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion." His light-blue eyes twinkled as they flickered over Fred and George's mutinous faces. "I therefore beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen.

"The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October, and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected. And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop chop!"

Grandfather sat down again and turned to talk to Mad-Eye Moody. There was a great scraping and banging as all the students got to their feet, and swarmed towards the double doors into the Entrance Hall.

"They can't do that!" said George Weasley, who had not joined the crowd moving towards the door, but was standing up and glaring at Dumbledore. "We're seventeen in April, why can't we have a shot?"

"They're not stopping me entering," said Fred stubbornly, also scowling at the top table. "The champions'll get to do all sorts of stuff you'd never be allowed to do normally. And a thousand Galleons prize money!"

"Yeah," said Ron, a faraway look on his face. "Yeah, a thousand Galleons..."

"Come on," said Hermione, "we'll be the only ones left here if you don't move."

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and I set off for the Entrance Hall, Fred and George debating the ways in which Dumbledore might stop those who were under seventeen entering the Tournament.

"Who's this impartial judge who's going to decide who the champions are?" said Harry.

"Dunno," said Fred, "but it's them we'll have to fool. I reckon a couple of drops of Ageing Potion might do it, George..."

"Dumbledore knows you're not of age, though," said Ron.

"Yeah, but he's not the one who decides who the champion is, is he?" said Fred shrewdly. "Sounds to me like once this judge knows who wants to enter, he'll choose the best from each school and never mind how old they are. Dumbledore's trying to stop us giving our names."

"People have died, though!" said Hermione and I worried, as we walked through a door concealed behind a tapestry and started up another, narrower staircase.

"Yeah," said Fred airily, "but that was years ago, wasn't it? Anyway, where's the fun without a bit of risk? Hey, Ron, what if we find out how to get round Dumbledore? Fancy entering?"

"What d'you reckon?" Ron asked Harry and I. "Be cool to enter, wouldn't it? But I s'pose they might want someone older...dunno if we've learnt enough..."

"I definitely haven't," came Neville's gloomy voice from behind Fred and George. "I expect my gran'd want me to try, though, she's always going on about how I should be upholding the family honour. I'll just have to – ooops..."

Neville's foot had sunk right through a step halfway up the staircase. There were many of these trick stairs at Hogwarts; it was second nature to most of the older students to jump this particular step, but Neville's memory was notoriously poor. Harry and Ron seized him under the armpits and pulled him out, while a suit of armour at the top of the stairs creaked and clanked, laughing wheezily.

"Shut it, you," said Ron, banging down its visor as we passed.

We made our way up to the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, which was concealed behind a large portrait of a fat lady in a pink silk dress.

"Password?" she said, as we approached.

"Balderdash," said George, "a Prefect downstairs told me."

The portrait swung forwards to reveal a hole in the wall, through which we all climbed. A crackling fire was warming the circular common room, which was full of squashy armchairs and tables. Hermione cast the merrily dancing flames a dark look, and I distinctly heard her mutter 'slave labour', before bidding us goodnight, and disappearing through the doorway to the girls' dormitories.

I turned to Harry, Ron, and Neville and said a hurried goodnight to them before I dashed back out of the portrait hole and off to my own room. It wasn't too far from Gryffindor tower and it was barely five minutes before I was flopping onto my bed. I sighed deeply and went to unpack my things and prepare for tomorrow. I liked to have set everything up the night before so that I had less to do in the morning when I woke up.

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\- sorry for the semi-late update! Just been busy trying to find a new apartment by the end of the month! Still looking and then I'll be moving so I'll try and post as often as I can. Some people have wanted me to start working on my Charmed story as well so I may or may not take a quick break to work on that one.

\- not too much original story in these next few chapters while we are waiting for the big news but I'll try and put in as much Malloy, Cedric, and Neville scenes as I can fit in comfortably :)

\- as always let me know what you think!


	12. Mad-Eye Moody

AN - Hey everyone, like I said the last chapter didn't have too much original content bc I couldn't think of anything to really include in it and I was focused on getting out another chapter and setting up the tournament info since it had been a while - I promise this next chapter should be a lot better. Kat will be exploring her powers more and I'll be doing my best to incorporate more Harry, Draco, and Cedric scenes as requested so hope you enjoy this next chapter!

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Katrina's POV

I woke up the next morning and groaned sleepily as I slipped into the shower. The hot water hitting my body helped wake me up and by the time I stepped out and dried myself off, I felt ready for the day. I stood in front of the mirror and brushed out my hair before staring at my reflection. After a long pause, I closed my eyes and concentrated. When I opened my eyes I grinned at myself happily, liking what I saw. I grabbed my bag and dashed off towards the Gryffindor tower.

I knocked on Harry and Ron's dormitory room door but got no answer. I sighed and entered the room anyways and rolled my eyes at the view before me. Boys! They really needed to start waking up on time! I walked over to Harry and tried to shake him awake but he just rolled over and continued to sleep. I went over to Ron's bed but was no more successful.

I tapped my foot on the floor as I thought of the "best" way to wake them up - then grinned as I settled on what I thought would be the best way.

Harry's POV

I woke up with a startled and high-pitched squeak as something heavy jumped up and down on my chest. My eyes widened in fear and I toppled off my bed as I stared in horror at the blue wolf that had now hopped from my bed and onto Ron's. I hurriedly reached for my glasses as Ron emitted a screech similar to mine before landing on the floor with a loud thump. I grabbed my wand and pointed it at the wolf before my brain finally caught up with me. The creature was blue!

I smacked my forehead and lowered my wand as I started to laugh. The creature let a soft growl before shifting back into Katrina. She bent down to help Ron up from the floor but was laughing so hard that she let him drop halfway. By the time the three of us had exited the dormitory, we were all laughing uncontrollably.

I glanced at Kat and smiled.

"I like the new look, Kat." I grinned as she reached up nervously and wrapped a strand of hair around her finger.

"You sure it's not too much? I just wanted to try something new and more out there, ya know?"

"You look perfect, Kat. You always do!" My face heated up as I realized what I'd just said. "Um, we should probably get down to breakfast!" I said quickly changing the topic.

Katrina's POV

Though the storm had blown itself out, the ceiling in the Great Hall was still gloomy; heavy clouds of pewter grey swirled overhead as we met up with Hermione and examined our new timetables at breakfast. A few seats along, Fred, George and Lee Jordan were discussing magical methods of ageing themselves and bluffing their way into the Triwizard Tournament.

I shook my head at them. I couldn't see what all the fuss was about. The tournament sounded dangerous. I would hate to have to compete in it! No amount of public glory was worth potentially dying or getting seriously injured!

As I looked around the room, I noted a lot of students staring at me and my new electric blue hair. I shifted nervously in my seat but forced my back to stay straight as I remembered this was partially why I had done it. I needed to confront my fears not hide from them. I smiled as I was complimented on the new look by many of the students from various houses. It was small, but it was a start.

"Today's not bad...outside all morning," said Ron, who was running his finger down his timetable, "Herbology with the Hufflepuffs and Care of Magical Creatures...damn it, we're still with the Slytherins..."

"Double Divination this afternoon," Harry groaned. I giggled at the expression on his face. I was so happy I no longer had to take that class! Professor Trelawney kept predicting mine and Harry's death, which we both found extremely annoying.

"You should have given it up like me and Kat, shouldn't you?" said Hermione briskly, buttering herself some toast. "Then you'd be doing something sensible like Arithmancy."

"You're eating again, I notice," said Ron, watching Hermione add liberal amounts of jam to her buttered toast.

"I've decided there are better ways of making a stand about elf rights," said Hermione haughtily.

"Yeah...and you were hungry," I teased her as I bumped her shoulder with my elbow.

There was a sudden rustling noise above us, and a hundred owls came soaring through the open windows, carrying the morning mail. Instinctively, Harry and I looked up, but there was no sign of white or black among the mass of brown and grey. The owls circled the tables, looking for the people to whom their letters and packages were addressed. A large tawny owl soared down to Neville Longbottom and deposited a parcel in his lap – Neville almost always forgot to pack something.

On the other side of the Hall Draco Malfoy's eagle owl had landed on his shoulder, carrying what looked like his usual supply of sweets and cakes from home. Trying to ignore the sinking feeling of disappointment in my stomach, I returned to my bagel and strawberry cream cheese. Was it possible that something had happened to Salazar? and that Sirius hadn't even got my letter?

My preoccupation lasted all the way across the sodden vegetable path until we arrived in greenhouse three, but here I was distracted by Professor Sprout showing the class the ugliest plants I had ever seen. Indeed, they looked less like plants than thick black giant slugs, protruding vertically out of the soil. Each was squirming slightly, and had a number of large, shiny swellings upon it, which appeared to be full of liquid.

"Bubotubers," Professor Sprout told us briskly. "They need squeezing. You will collect the pus –"

"The what?" said Seamus Finnigan, sounding revolted.

"Pus, Finnigan, pus," said Professor Sprout, "and it's extremely valuable, so don't waste it. You will collect the pus, I say, in these bottles. Wear your dragon-hide gloves, it can do funny things to the skin when undiluted, Bubotuber pus."

Squeezing the Bubotubers was disgusting, but oddly satisfying. As each swelling was popped, a large amount of thick yellowish green liquid burst forth, which smelled strongly of petrol. We caught it in the bottles as Professor Sprout had indicated, and by the end of the lesson had collected several pints.

"This'll keep Madam Pomfrey happy," said Professor Sprout, stoppering the last bottle with a cork. "An excellent remedy for the more stubborn forms of acne, Bubotuber pus. Should stop students resorting to desperate measures to rid themselves of pimples."

"Like poor Eloise Midgen," said Hannah Abbott, a Hufflepuff, in a hushed voice. "She tried to curse hers off."

"Silly girl," said Professor Sprout, shaking her head. "But Madam Pomfrey fixed her nose back on in the end."

A booming bell echoed from the castle across the wet grounds, signalling the end of the lesson, and the class separated; the Hufflepuffs climbing the stone steps for Transfiguration, and the Gryffindors heading in the other direction, down the sloping lawn towards Hagrid's small wooden cabin, which stood on the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Hagrid was standing outside his hut, one hand on the collar of his enormous black boarhound, Fang. There were several open wooden crates on the ground at his feet, and Fang was whimpering and straining at his collar, apparently keen to investigate the contents more closely. As we drew nearer, an odd rattling noise reached our ears, punctuated by what sounded like minor explosions.

"Mornin'!" Hagrid said, grinning at Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I. "Be'er wait fer the Slytherins, they won' want ter miss this – Blast-Ended Skrewts!"

I shivered. Whatever they were, they didn't sound cute and cuddly.

"Come again?" said Ron.

Hagrid pointed down into the crates.

"Eurgh!" squealed Lavender Brown, jumping backwards.

"Eurgh" just about summed up the Blast-Ended Skrewts, in my opinion. They looked like deformed, shell-less lobsters, horribly pale and slimy-looking, with legs sticking out in very odd places and no visible heads. There were about a hundred of them in each crate, each about six inches long, crawling over each other, bumping blindly into the sides of the boxes. They were giving off a very powerful smell of rotting fish. Every now and then, sparks would fly out of the end of a Skrewt and, with a small phut, it would be propelled forwards several inches.

"On'y jus' hatched," said Hagrid proudly, "so yeh'll be able ter raise 'em yerselves! Thought we'd make a bit of a project of it!"

"And why would we want to raise them?" said a cold voice.

The Slytherins had arrived. The speaker was Draco. Crabbe and Goyle were chuckling appreciatively at his words.

Hagrid looked stumped at the question.

"I mean, what do they do?" asked Draco. "What is the point of them?"

Hagrid opened his mouth, apparently thinking hard; there was a few seconds' pause, then he said roughly, "Tha's next lesson, Malfoy. Yer jus' feedin' 'em today. Now, yeh'll wan' ter try 'em on a few diff'rent things – I've never had 'em before, not sure what they'll go fer – I got ant eggs an' frog livers an' a bit o' grass-snake – just try 'em out with a bit of each."

"First pus and now this," muttered Seamus.

Nothing but deep affection for Hagrid could have made Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I pick up squelchy handfuls of frog liver and lower them into the crates to tempt the Blast-Ended Skrewts. I couldn't suppress the suspicion that the whole thing was entirely pointless, because the Skrewts didn't seem to have mouths.

"Ouch!" yelled Dean Thomas, after about ten minutes. "It got me!"

Hagrid hurried over to him, looking anxious.

"Its end exploded!" said Dean angrily, showing Hagrid a burn on his hand.

"Ah, yeah, that can happen when they blast off," said Hagrid, nodding.

"Eurgh!" said Lavender Brown again. "Eurgh, Hagrid, what's that pointy thing on it?"

"Ah, some of 'em have got stings," said Hagrid enthusiastically (Lavender quickly withdrew her hand from the box). "I reckon they're the males...the females've got sorta sucker things on their bellies...I think they might be ter suck blood."

"Well, I can certainly see why we're trying to keep them alive," said Draco sarcastically. "Who wouldn't want pets that can burn, sting and bite all at once?"

"Just because they're not very pretty, it doesn't mean they're not useful," Hermione snapped. "Dragon blood's amazingly magical, but you wouldn't want a dragon for a pet, would you?"

"Hey!" I said to Hermione who rolled her eyes at me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Draco wink and grin at me and I couldn't help but grin back.

*************************************

"Well, at least the Skrewts are small," said Ron, as we made our way back up to the castle for lunch an hour later.

"They are now," said Hermione in an exasperated voice, "but once Hagrid's found out what they eat, I expect they'll be six feet long."

"Well, that won't matter if they turn out to cure sea sickness or something, will it?" said Ron, grinning slyly at her.

"You know perfectly well I only said that to shut Malfoy up," said Hermione. "As a matter of fact I think he's right. The best thing to do would be to stamp on the lot of them before they start attacking us all."

We sat down at the Gryffindor table and helped ourselves to lamb chops and potatoes. Hermione began to eat so fast that we all stared at her.

"Er – is this the new stand on elf rights?" said Ron. "You're going to make yourself puke instead?"

"No," said Hermione, with as much dignity as she could muster with her mouth bulging with sprouts. "I just want to get to the library."

"What?" said Ron in disbelief. "Hermione – it's the first day back! We haven't even got homework yet!" I had to agree with Ron on that one. As much as I liked to do my work on time, even I wasn't that eager to get started!

Hermione shrugged and continued to shovel down her food as though she had not eaten for days. Then she leapt to her feet, said, "See you at dinner!" and departed at high speed.

When the bell rang to signal the start of afternoon lessons, I joined Hermione outside of the Library and the two of us headed off for Arithmancy class.

Harry's POV

"Good day," said the misty voice of Professor Trelawney right behind me, making me jump. Her big eyes stared at me and her head tilted to the left.

"You are preoccupied, my dear," she said mournfully to me. "My Inner Eye sees past your brave face to the troubled soul within. And I regret to say that your worries are not baseless. I see difficult times ahead for you, alas...most difficult...I fear the thing you dread will indeed come to pass...and perhaps sooner than you think...the girl will have no choice but to help him whether she wants to or not."

Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. Ron rolled his eyes at me, but as I looked stonily back at Professor Trelawney, I couldn't help but feel a sense of dread at her ominous warning. She had been right last year about Peter, after all. Though I didn't know what she meant about a girl helping...

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Katrina's POV

"Lots of homework?" I asked Harry and Ron brightly as Hermione and I caught up with them. "Professor Vector didn't give us any at all!"

"Well, bully for Professor Vector," said Ron moodily.

We reached the Entrance Hall, which was packed with people queuing for dinner. We had just joined the end of the line, when a loud voice rang out behind us.

"Weasley! Hey, Weasley!"

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I turned. Draco, Crabbe and Goyle were standing there, each looking thoroughly pleased about something.

"What?" said Ron shortly.

"Your dad's in the paper, Weasley!" said Draco, brandishing a copy of the Daily Prophet, and speaking very loudly, so that everyone in the packed Entrance Hall could hear. "Listen to this!"

FURTHER MISTAKES AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC

I groaned as Draco read off the newspaper article. It was horrible! That vile Rita Skeeter woman was incapable of writing anything but nasty words! I looked at Draco angrily. I knew this wasn't going to end well.

"Imagine them not even getting his name right, Weasley, it's almost as though he's a complete nonentity, isn't it?" he crowed.

Everyone in the Entrance Hall was listening now. Draco straightened the paper with a flourish, and read on.

"And there's a picture, Weasley!" said Draco, flipping the paper over and holding it up. "A picture of your parents outside their house – if you can call it a house! Your mother could do with losing a bit of weight, couldn't she?"

Ron was shaking with fury. Everyone was staring at him.

"Get stuffed, Malfoy," said Harry. "C'mon, Ron..."

"Oh yeah, you were staying with them this summer, weren't you, Potter," sneered Draco. "So tell me, is his mother really that porky, or is it just the picture?" Hermione grabbed the back of my robes as I made to lunge at Draco.

"You know your mother, Draco?" said Harry – "That expression she's got, like she's got dung under her nose? Has she always looked like that, or was it just because you were with her?"

Draco pale face went slightly pink. "Don't you dare insult my mother, Potter."

"Keep your fat mouth shut, then -"

"Leave my friends alone, Draco. You're just a slimy ferret! I can't believe we were ever friends! -" Harry and I spoke at the same time and turned our back towards Draco, planning to leave him in our dust.

BANG!

Several people screamed – I felt something white hot graze the side of my face – I plunged my hand into my robes for my wand, but before I'd even touched it, I heard a second loud BANG, and a roar which echoed through the Entrance Hall.

"OH NO YOU DON'T, LADDIE!"

Harry and I spun around. Professor Moody was limping down the marble staircase. His wand was out and it was pointing right at a pure white ferret, which was shivering on the stone-flagged floor, exactly where Draco had been standing.

There was a terrified silence in the Entrance Hall. Nobody but Moody was moving a muscle. Moody turned to look at Harry and I – at least, his normal eye was looking at us; the other one was pointing into the back of his head.

"Did he get either of you?" Moody growled. His voice was low and gravelly.

"No," said Harry, "missed."

"LEAVE IT!" Moody shouted.

"Leave – what?" I said, bewildered.

"Not you – him!" Moody growled, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at Crabbe, who had just frozen, about to pick up the white ferret. It seemed that Moody's rolling eye was magical and could see out of the back of his head.

Moody started to limp towards Crabbe, Goyle and the ferret, which gave a terrified squeak and took off, streaking towards the dungeons.

"I don't think so!" roared Moody, pointing his wand at the ferret again – it flew ten feet into the air, fell with a smack to the floor, and then bounced upwards once more.

"I don't like people who attack when their opponent's back's turned," growled Moody, as the ferret bounced higher and higher, squealing in pain. "Stinking, cowardly, scummy thing to do..."

The ferret flew through the air, its legs and tail flailing helplessly.

"Never – do – that – again –" said Moody, speaking each word as the ferret hit the stone floor and bounced upwards again.

"Professor Moody!" said a shocked voice.

Professor McGonagall was coming down the marble staircase with her arms full of books.

"Hello, Professor McGonagall," said Moody calmly, bouncing the ferret still higher.

"What – what are you doing?" said Professor McGonagall, her eyes following the bouncing ferret's progress through the air.

"Teaching," said Moody with a wink in my direction.

"Teach– Moody, is that a student" shrieked Minnie, the books spilling out of her arms.

"Yep," said Moody.

"No!" cried Professor McGonagall, running down the stairs and pulling out her wand; a moment later, with a loud snapping noise, Draco Malfoy had reappeared, lying in a heap on the floor with his sleek blond hair all over his now brilliantly pink face. He got to his feet, wincing.

"Moody, we never use Transfiguration as a punishment!" said Professor McGonagall weakly. "Surely Professor Dumbledore told you that?"

"He might've mentioned it, yeah," said Moody, scratching his chin unconcernedly, "but I thought a good sharp shock –"

"We give detentions, Moody! Or speak to the offender's Head of house!"

"I'll do that, then," said Moody, staring at Draco with great dislike.

Draco, whose pale eyes were still watering with pain and humiliation, looked malevolently up at Moody and muttered something in which the words 'my father' were distinguishable.

"Oh yeah?" said Moody quietly, limping forward a few steps, the dull clunk of his wooden leg echoing around the hall. "Well, I know your father of old, boy...you tell him Moody's keeping a close eye on his son...you tell him that from me...now, your Head of house'll be Snape, will it?"

"Yes," said Draco resentfully.

"Another old friend," growled Moody. "I've been looking forward to a chat with old Snape...come on, you..." And he seized Malfoy's upper arm and marched him off towards the dungeons.

Minnie stared anxiously after them for a few moments, then waved her wand at her fallen books, causing them to soar up into the air and back into her arms.

"Don't talk to me," Ron said quietly to Harry, Hermione, and I as we walked into the Great Hall.

"Why not?" asked Hermione.

"Because I want to fix that in my memory for ever," said Ron, his eyes closed and an uplifted expression on his face. "Draco Malfoy, the amazing bouncing ferret..." we all laughed.

"Kat! Hey, Kat!" I heard someone shout. I turned around to see Cedric and his friends walking towards me.

"Hey!" I responded.

"Would you like to join us for dinner?"

I glanced at my friends. I didn't want to just ditch them but Hermione glanced between Cedric and I and wiggled her brows. I rolled my eyes at her but took that as permission.

"I'd like that, Cedric," I said with a smile.

"Great! Oh, and I love the new hair! It totally brings out the color of your gorgeous eyes," Cedric said.

"Really?" I giggled and reached my hand up to pat my electric blue hair as my cheeks turned red. Harry groaned under his breath and stomped off to the Gryffindor table with Ron and Hermione in tow. I shrugged my shoulders as I followed Cedric and his friends to the Hufflepuff table.

"Moody!" one of Cedric's friends was saying as we sat down. "How cool is he?"

"Beyond cool," said Cedric, sitting down next to me. I blushed again as I felt the length of our legs brush up against one another.

"Supercool," said another one of Cedric's friends, sliding into the seat on his other side. "We had him this afternoon," Cedric explained to me.

"What was it like?" I asked eagerly.

Cedric and his friends exchanged looks full of meaning.

"Never had a lesson like it," said Cedric.

"He knows, man," said another Hufflepuff.

"Knows what?" I said, leaning forwards.

"Knows what it's like to be out there doing it," the Hufflepuff said impressively.

"Doing what?"

"Fighting the Dark Arts," said Cedric.

"He's seen it all," his friend continued.

"He's amazing!" Cedric nodded.

"I haven't got him 'til Thursday!" I said in a disappointed voice.

"Don't worry, it'll be worth the wait!" the friend sitting on Cedric's other side said. "By the way, my name is Chris. Nice to finally meet you! Cedric's told me all about you!"

"Really?" I looked down at my lap to cover my embarrassment. "All good things, I hope!"

"Of course!" Cedric grinned. "There's nothing bad to say about you, Kat! You're the best!"

I went to bed that night with a smile on my face.

*************************************

Hope you guys enjoyed this next chapter! I know, it's short but hope you liked it. Feel free to share your thoughts! I did my best to add a bit of Draco, Harry, and Cedric moments as requested and will continue to add them where I can :) also if anyone has any requests for new hair colors or animal forms that Kat should play around with drop a comment and I'll do my best to incorporate as many as I can into the rest of the series!


	13. The Unforgivable Curses

Katrina's POV

The next two days passed without great incident, unless you counted Neville melting his sixth cauldron in Potions. Sev seemed to have attained new levels of vindictiveness over the summer and I glared at him when he gave Neville detention, and Neville returned from it in a state of nervous collapse, having been made to disembowel a barrel full of horned toads. I loved my godfather but sometimes even I thought he crossed a line with his treatment of Neville and Harry!

"You know why Snape's in such a foul mood, don't you?" I heard Ron say to Harry as Hermione and I taught Neville a Scouring Charm to remove the frog guts from under his fingernails.

"Yeah," said Harry. "Moody."

I shook my head. It was common knowledge that my godfather really wanted the Dark Arts job, and he had now failed to get it for the fourth year running. Snape had disliked all of our previous Dark Arts teachers, and shown it - but he seemed strangely wary of displaying overt animosity to Mad-Eye Moody. Indeed, whenever we saw the two of them together - at mealtimes, or when they passed in the corridors - I got the distinct impression that Sev was avoiding Moody's eye, whether magical or normal.

When I tried to ask him about it after class though, he just gave me a funny look and stormed out of the dungeon with his cape a flutter.

"I reckon Snape's a bit scared of him, you know," Harry said thoughtfully.

"Imagine if Moody turned Snape into a horned toad," said Ron, his eyes misting over, "and bounced him all around his dungeon..."

"Ron!" I said quickly as I thumped his chest. As funny as the image was, he was still my godfather!

We were all looking forward to Moody's first lesson so much that we arrived early on Thursday lunchtime and queued up outside his classroom before the bell had even rung. The only person missing was Hermione, who turned up just in time for the lesson.

"Been in the -"

"Library." Harry and I finished her sentence for her. "C'mon, quick, or we won't get decent seats."

We hurried into four chairs right in front of the teacher's desk, took out our copies of The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection, and waited, unusually quiet. Soon we heard Moody's distinctive clunking footsteps coming down the corridor, and he entered the room, looking as strange and frightening as ever. We could just see his clawed, wooden foot protruding from underneath his robes. I shivered as I contemplated what it would be like to lose a limb. How horrid!

"You can put those away," he growled, stumping over to his desk and sitting down, "those books. You won't need them."

We returned the books to our bags, Ron looking excited.

Moody took out a register, shook his long mane of grizzled gray hair out of his twisted and scarred face, and began to call out names, his normal eye moving steadily down the list while his magical eye swiveled around, fixing upon each student as he or she answered.

When he reached the end of the list he paused before calling out my own name. I don't think anyone else noticed, but I didn't like the way his magical eye kept glancing at me.

"Right then," he said after I had declared myself present, "I've had a letter from Professor Lupin about this class. Seems you've had a pretty thorough grounding in tackling Dark creatures - you've covered boggarts, Red Caps, hinkypunks, grindylows, Kappas, and werewolves, is that right?"

There was a general murmur of assent.

"But you're behind - very behind - on dealing with curses," said Moody. "So I'm here to bring you up to scratch on what wizards can do to each other. I've got one year to teach you how to deal with Dark -"

"What, aren't you staying?" Ron blurted out. I clasped my hand to my mouth to mask my laughter. I glanced over at Hermione and we shared smirks.

Moody's magical eye spun around to stare at Ron; Ron looked extremely apprehensive, but after a moment Moody smiled - the first time I had seen him do so. The effect was to make his heavily scarred face look more twisted and contorted than ever, but it was nevertheless good to know that he knew how to smile. Ron looked deeply relieved.

"You'll be Arthur Weasley's son, eh?" Moody said. "Your father got me out of a very tight corner a few days ago...Yeah, I'm staying just the one year. Special favor to Dumbledor...One year, and then back to my quiet retirement."

He gave a harsh laugh, and then clapped his gnarled hands together.

"So - straight into it. Curses. They come in many strengths and forms. Now, according to the Ministry of Magic, I'm supposed to teach you countercurses and leave it at that. I'm not supposed to show you what illegal Dark curses look like until you're in the sixth year. You're not supposed to be old enough to deal with it till then. But Professor Dumbledore's got a higher opinion of your nerves, he reckons you can cope, and I say, the sooner you know what you're up against, the better. How are you supposed to defend yourself against something you've never seen? A wizard who's about to put an illegal curse on you isn't going to tell you what he's about to do. He's not going to do it nice and polite to your face. You need to be prepared. You need to be alert and watchful. You need to put that away, Miss Brown, when I'm talking."

Lavender jumped and blushed. She had been showing Parvati her completed horoscope under the desk. Apparently Moody's magical eye could see through solid wood, as well as out of the back of his head.

I shook my head again, baffled at the two girls who had nothing better to do then good off in class. What Moody was saying was important! They were morons for not realizing that.

"So...do any of you know which curses are most heavily punished by wizarding law?"

Several hands rose tentatively into the air, including Ron's and Hermione's. Moody pointed at Ron, though his magical eye was still fixed on Lavender.

"Er," said Ron tentatively, "my dad told me about one...Is it called the Imperius Curse, or something?"

"Ah, yes," said Moody appreciatively. "Your father would know that one. Gave the Ministry a lot of trouble at one time, the Imperius Curse."

Moody got heavily to his mismatched feet, opened his desk drawer, and took out a glass jar. Three large black spiders were scuttling around inside it. I saw Ron recoil slightly in his seat on the other side of Harry - Ron hated spiders. I had to admit, even I wasn't that big of a fan. But I also didn't scream and run out of the room whenever I saw one!

Moody reached into the jar, caught one of the spiders, and held it in the palm of his hand so that they could all see it. He then pointed his wand at it and muttered, "Imperio!"

The spider leapt from Moody's hand on a fine thread of silk and began to swing backward and forward as though on a trapeze. It stretched out its legs rigidly, then did a back flip, breaking the thread and landing on the desk, where it began to cartwheel in circles. Moody jerked his wand, and the spider rose onto two of its hind legs and went into what was unmistakably a tap dance.

Everyone was laughing - everyone except Moody and I. I knew there must be a reason why this curse was unforgivable and I had a bad feeling something was about to happen that wouldn't be very funny.

"Think it's funny, do you?" he growled. "You'd like it, would you, if I did it to you?"

The laughter died away almost instantly.

"Total control," said Moody quietly as the spider balled itself up and began to roll over and over. "I could make it jump out of the window, drown itself, throw itself down one of your throats..."

Ron gave an involuntary shudder.

"Years back, there were a lot of witches and wizards being controlled by the Imperius Curse," said Moody, and I knew he was talking about the days in which Voldemort had been all-powerful. "Some job for the Ministry, trying to sort out who was being forced to act, and who was acting of their own free will.

"The Imperius Curse can be fought, and I'll be teaching you how, but it takes real strength of character, and not everyone's got it. Better avoid being hit with it if you can. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he barked, and everyone jumped.

Moody picked up the somersaulting spider and threw it back into the jar.

"Anyone else know one? Another illegal curse?"

Hermione's hand flew into the air again and so, to my slight surprise, did Neville's. The only class in which Neville usually volunteered information was Herbology which was easily his best subject. Neville looked surprised at his own daring.

"Yes?" said Moody, his magical eye rolling right over to fix on Neville.

"There's one - the Cruciatus Curse," said Neville in a small but distinct voice. I froze. Neville had told me about what happened to his parents our first year at Hogwarts but he'd never mentioned how it had happened.

Moody was looking very intently at Neville, this time with both eyes.

"Your name's Longbottom?" he said, his magical eye swooping down to check the register again.

Neville nodded nervously, but Moody made no further inquiries. Turning back to the class at large, he reached into the jar for the next spider and placed it upon the desktop, where it remained motionless, apparently too scared to move.

"The Cruciatus Curse," said Moody. "Needs to be a bit bigger for you to get the idea," he said, pointing his wand at the spider. "Engorgio!"

The spider swelled. It was now larger than a tarantula. Abandoning all pretense, Ron pushed his chair backward, as far away from Moody's desk as possible.

Moody raised his wand again, pointed it at the spider, and muttered, "Crucio!"

At once, the spider's legs bent in upon its body; it rolled over and began to twitch horribly, rocking from side to side. No sound came from it, but I was sure that if it could have given voice, it would have been screaming. Moody did not remove his wand, and the spider started to shudder and jerk more violently -

"Stop it!" I shouted. I couldn't bare to watch, and I could tell Neville couldn't either. His hands were clenched upon the desk in front of him, his knuckles white, his eyes wide and horrified.

Moody raised his wand. The spider's legs relaxed, but it continued to twitch.

"Reducio," Moody muttered, and the spider shrank back to its proper size. He put it back into the jar.

"Pain," said Moody softly. "You don't need thumbscrews or knives to torture someone if you can perform the Cruciatus Curse...That one was very popular once too.

"Right...anyone know any others?"

I looked around. From the looks on everyone's faces, I guessed they were all wondering what was going to happen to the last spider. Hermione's hand shook slightly as, for the third time, she raised it into the air.

"Yes?" said Moody, looking at her.

"Avada Kedavra," Hermione whispered.

Several people looked uneasily around at her, including Ron.

"Ah," said Moody, another slight smile twisting his lopsided mouth. "Yes, the last and worst. Avada Kedavra...the Killing Curse."

He put his hand into the glass jar, and almost as though it knew what was coming, the third spider scuttled frantically around the bottom of the jar, trying to evade Moody's fingers, but he trapped it, and placed it upon the desktop. It started to scuttle frantically across the wooden surface.

Moody raised his wand, and I felt a sudden thrill of foreboding.

"Avada Kedavra!" Moody roared.

There was a flash of blinding green light and a rushing sound, as though a vast, invisible something was soaring through the air - instantaneously the spider rolled over onto its back, unmarked, but unmistakably dead. Several of the students stifled cries; Ron had thrown himself backward and almost toppled off his seat as the spider skidded toward him.

Moody swept the dead spider off the desk onto the floor.

"Not nice," he said calmly. "Not pleasant. And there's no countercurse. There's no blocking it. Only two people have ever survived it, and they're both sitting sitting right in front of me."

I felt my face redden as Moody's eyes (both of them) looked into my own. I could feel everyone else looking around at me and wondering why Moody had referred to both Harry and I. I stared at the blank blackboard as though fascinated by it, but not really seeing it at all....

So that was how my mom had died...exactly like that spider. Had she been unblemished and unmarked too? Had she simply seen the flash of green light and heard the rush of speeding death, before life was wiped from her bodies?

I had been picturing her and Harry's parent's deaths over and over again for three years now, ever since I'd found out they had been murdered, ever since I'd found out what had happened that night: Wormtail had betrayed our parents' whereabouts to Voldemort, who had come to find them at their cottage. How Voldemort had killed Harry's father first, then Lilly, and finally my own mum. But no one but Harry, Ron, Hermione, my grandfather, and godfathers knew about that! And now Moody had just blurted it out for the whole class to hear!

Even worse, he was now coming over to my desk. I held my breath as he used his wand to shift my robes and push my shirt away to reveal the scar on my collar bone. I heard a few gasps as whispers broke out and my face burned redder then ever. There goes that secret!

Moody was speaking again, and though the class quieted down once more, I knew I was going to hear about my scar later...I silently cursed Moody in my head for revealing my scar to everyone but refocused on his words nevertheless.

"Avada Kedavra's a curse that needs a powerful bit of magic behind it - you could all get your wands out now and point them at me and say the words, and I doubt I'd get so much as a nosebleed. But that doesn't matter. I'm not here to teach you how to do it.

"Now, if there's no countercurse, why am I showing you? Because you've got to know. You've got to appreciate what the worst is. You don't want to find yourself in a situation where you're facing it. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he roared, and the whole class jumped again.

"Now...those three curses - Avada Kedavra, Imperius, and Cruciatus - are known as the Unforgivable Curses. The use of any one of them on a fellow human being is enough to earn a life sentence in Azkaban. That's what you're up against. That's what I've got to teach you to fight. You need preparing. You need arming. But most of all, you need to practice constant, never-ceasing vigilance. Get out your quills...copy this down..."

They spent the rest of the lesson taking notes on each of the Unforgivable Curses. No one spoke until the bell rang - I was about to leave when Moody called out my name and asked me to stay behind. I glanced at Harry and motioned for him to join Ron and Hermione as they stood outside and waited for me.

"Yes, Professor? Was there something you needed?" I asked politely. The man gave me the creeps but he was still a Professor and I was not about to start being disrespectful.

"No, no. I just wanted to tell you that if there's anything that you ever need, don't hesitate to ask. I knew your father back in the day. He was, well...still is a great man."

"Really? You knew my father?" I blinked in surprise. Not many people knew Sirius was my dad! But if they had known each other, than he couldn't be all that bad!

"Yes, yes I did, I was deeply saddened when everyone turned on him. It was despicable! Those gutless worms!" I stepped back in shock at the venomous tone.

"Um, yes...I - I agree, it was horrible for everyone to turn their backs on him. If - if there's nothing else, Professor, I'll be on my way, don't want to be late!" I rushed out of the classroom as fast as I could. I was still angry at him for revealing my secret and even if he DID know my father, he still scared me.

I joined up with Ron, Harry, and Hermione and me made our way down the hall. As we did so, I couldn't help but notice how students kept whispering and pointing at me behind my back; and I knew it wasn't because of my choice of hair colors today - I'd decided to go with a deep purple that was almost black except for the tips, which where a lighter shade of violet.

Mad-Eye Moody's POV

As my next class filed into the room, I found both of my eyes attracted to one particular student. While her hair was purple at the moment, there was no mistaking whose kid she was. She looked so much like him!

I called her back after class to see if I could get her on her own. For the plan to work, she would need to survive till the end of the year, but I wanted to talk to her. I had specific orders to do my best to steer her in the right direction.

I laughed maniacally as she left my room. It had given me pleasure to curse those pathetic guttersnipes who had turned their back on my master. If I ever got another chance to make them run, I would gladly take it. How dare they leave him when he needed them most! While he was forced to hang onto life, they were enjoying a cushy lifestyle...how dare they!

When my master was brought back to full strength it would be me, not them, who was rewarded beyond comparison. And the girl...I could sense her power the minute she walked into the classroom. Her power was everything yummy master had said it was...she was going to be just what we needed to finally win. I grinned as I left the room to go get some minor details of the plan worked out.

Katrina's POV

"Hurry up," Hermione said tensely to Harry and Ron.

"Not the ruddy library again?" said Ron.

"No," said Hermione curtly, pointing up a side passage. "Neville."

Neville was standing alone, halfway up the passage, staring at the stone wall opposite him with the same horrified, wide-eyed look he had worn when Moody had demonstrated the Cruciatus Curse.

"Neville?" I said gently, walking over to him and putting my hand on his shoulder.

Neville looked around.

"Oh hello," he said, his voice much higher than usual. "Interesting lesson, wasn't it? I wonder what's for dinner, I'm - I'm starving, aren't you?"

"Neville, are you all right?" said Hermione.

"Oh yes, I'm fine," Neville gabbled in the same unnaturally high voice. "Very interesting dinner - I mean lesson - what's for eating?"

Ron gave Harry a startled look.

"Neville, what -?"

But an odd clunking noise sounded behind us, and we turned to see Professor Moody limping toward us. All five of us fell silent, watching him apprehensively, but when he spoke, it was in a much lower and gentler growl than we had yet heard.

"It's all right, sonny," he said to Neville. "Why don't you come up to my office? Come on...we can have a cup of tea..."

Neville looked even more frightened at the prospect of tea with Moody. He neither moved nor spoke. Moody turned his magical eye upon Harry and I."

"You all right, are you, Potter? Katrina?"

"Yes," we said, almost defiantly. I'd already spoken to him once and I wasn't looking forward to having to do so again. Poor Neville, he had to go and drink tea with him!

Moody's blue eye quivered slightly in its socket as it surveyed Harry and I. Then he said, "You've got to know. It seems harsh, maybe, but you've got to know. No point pretending...well...come on, Longbottom, I've got some books that might interest you."

Neville looked pleadingly at Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I, but we didn't say anything, so Neville had no choice but to allow himself to be steered away, one of Moody's gnarled hands on his shoulder.

"What was that about?" said Ron, watching Neville and Moody turn the corner.

"I don't know," said Hermione, looking pensive. I had a good idea, but I'd promised Neville I wouldn't tell anyone until he was ready.

"Some lesson, though, eh?" said Ron to Harry as we set off for the Great Hall. "Fred and George were right, weren't they? He really knows his stuff, Moody, doesn't he? When he did Avada Kedavra, the way that spider just died, just snuffed it right -"

But Ron fell suddenly silent at the look on Harry's and my face and didn't speak again until we reached the Great Hall, when he said he supposed they had better make a start on Professor Trelawney's predictions tonight, since they would take hours.

Hermione did not join in with Harry and Ron's conversation during dinner, but ate furiously fast, and then left for the library again. I didn't join in either as I was busy hiding my face from everyone.

"Harry! How do you stand it! I burst out angrily as yet another group of giggling first years freaked out when I caught them glancing my way.

I hated this! This was exactly why I didn't want anyone finding out I'm the first place! Why did Moody have to go and blurt out the truth! Arghhhhh! I stood up angrily and made to storm out but Harry grabbed my arm and pulled me back to the table. After a quick back and forth argument, he finally managed to convince me to join him and Ron in the Gryffindor Common room while they did their homework.

"I haven't got a clue what this lot's supposed to mean," Harry said an hour later as we sat before the fireplace. I was working on an Arithmancy essay and the boys were working on their star charts.

"You know," said Ron, whose hair was on end because of all the times he had run his fingers through it in frustration, "I think it's back to the old Divination standby."

"What - make it up?"

"Yeah," said Ron, sweeping the jumble of scrawled notes off the table, dipping his pen into some ink, and starting to write. I opened my mouth to lecture them - and then remembered it was for Professor Trelawney and that I didn't care.

"Next Monday," he said as he scribbled, "I am likely to develop a cough, owing to the unlucky conjunction of Mars and Jupiter." He looked up at Harry. "You know her - just put in loads of misery, she'll lap it up."

"Right," said Harry, crumpling up his first attempt and lobbing it over the heads of a group of chattering first years into the fire. "Okay...on Monday, I will be in danger of - er - burns."

"Yeah, you will be," said Ron darkly, "we're seeing the skrewts again on Monday. Okay, Tuesday, I'll...erm..."

"Lose a treasured possession?" I suggested helpfully.

"Good one," said Ron, copying it down. "Because of...erm...Mercury. Why don't you get stabbed in the back by someone you thought was a friend?"

"Yeah...cool..." said Harry, scribbling it down, "because...Venus is in the twelfth house."

"And on Wednesday, I think I'll come off worst in a fight."

"Aaah, I was going to have a fight. Okay, I'll lose a bet."

"Yeah, you'll be betting I'll win my fight...."

Harry and Ron continued to make up predictions (which grew steadily more tragic) for another hour, while the common room around us slowly emptied as people went up to bed. After I finished my own essay I joined in and helped them come up with predictions. I had to admit it was fun and it was a welcome distraction.

Crookshanks wandered over to them, leapt lightly into an empty chair, and stared inscrutably at Harry, rather as Hermione might look if she knew they weren't doing their homework properly.

Staring around the room, trying to think of a kind of misfortune we hadn't yet used, I saw Fred and George sitting together against the opposite wall, heads together, quills out, poring over a single piece of parchment.

As I watched, George shook his head at Fred, scratched out something with his quill, and said, in a very quiet voice that nevertheless carried across the almost deserted room, "No - that sounds like we're accusing him. Got to be careful..."

Then George looked over and saw that I was watching him. I grinned and quickly turned back in my seat - I didn't want George to think I was eavesdropping. Shortly after that, the twins rolled up their parchment, said good night, and went off to bed.

Fred and George had been gone ten minutes or so when the portrait hole opened and Hermione climbed into the common room carrying a sheaf of parchment in one hand and a box whose contents rattled as she walked in the other. Crookshanks arched his back, purring.

"Hello," she said, "I've just finished!"

"So have I!" said Ron triumphantly, throwing down his quill.

Hermione sat down, laid the things she was carrying in an empty armchair, and pulled Ron's predictions toward her.

"Not going to have a very good month, are you?" she said sardonically as Crookshanks curled up in her lap. I grinned at Harry as we shared a high-five.

"Ah well, at least I'm forewarned," Ron yawned.

"You seem to be drowning twice," said Hermione.

"Oh am I?" said Ron, peering down at his predictions. "I'd better change one of them to getting trampled by a rampaging hippogriff."

"Don't you think it's a bit obvious you've made these up?" said Hermione.

"How dare you!" said Ron, in mock outrage. "We've been working like house-elves here!"

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"It's just an expression," said Ron hastily.

Harry laid down his quill too, having just finished predicting his own death by decapitation - that one was my suggestion!

"What's in the box?" he asked, pointing at it.

"Funny you should ask," said Hermione, with a nasty look at Ron. She took off the lid and showed us the contents.

Inside were about fifty badges, all of different colors, but all bearing the same letters: S. P. E .W.

"Spew?" said Harry, picking up a badge and looking at it. "What's this about?"

"Not spew," said Hermione impatiently. "It's S-P-E-W. Stands for the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare."

"Never heard of it," said Ron.

"Well, of course you haven't," said Hermione briskly, "I've only just started it."

"Yeah?" said Ron in mild surprise. "How many members have you got?"

"Well - if you three join - four," said Hermione.

"And you think we want to walk around wearing badges saying 'spew,' do you?" said Ron.

"S-P-E-W!" said Hermione hotly. "I was going to put Stop the Outrageous Abuse of Our Fellow Magical Creatures and Campaign for a Change in Their Legal Status - but it wouldn't fit. So that's the heading of our manifesto."

She brandished the sheaf of parchment at them.

"I've been researching it thoroughly in the library. Elf enslavement goes back centuries. I can't believe no one's done anything about it before now."

"Hermione - open your ears," said Ron loudly. "They. Like. It. They like being enslaved!"

"Our short-term aims," said Hermione, speaking even more loudly than Ron, and acting as though she hadn't heard a word, "are to secure house-elves fair wages and working conditions. Our long-term aims include changing the law about non-wand use, and trying to get an elf into the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, because they're shockingly underrepresented."

"And how do we do all this?" Harry asked.

"We start by recruiting members," said Hermione happily. "I thought two Sickles to join - that buys a badge - and the proceeds can fund our leaflet campaign. You're treasurer, Ron - I've got you a collecting tin upstairs - and Harry, you're secretary, so you might want to write down everything I'm saying now, as a record of our first meeting."

There was a pause in which Hermione beamed at the three of us, and I sat, torn between exasperation at Hermione and amusement at the look on Ron's face. The silence was broken, not by Ron, who in any case looked as though he was temporarily dumbstruck, but by a soft tap, tap on the window. I looked across the now empty common room and saw, illuminated by the moonlight, a snowy owl and a pitch black one perched on the windowsill.

"Hedwig! Salazar! Harry and I shouted. We launched ourselves out of our chairs and across the room to pull open the window.

Hedwig and Salazar flew inside, soared across the room, and landed on the table on top of Harry's predictions.

"About time!" said Harry, hurrying after her. I ran over to Salazar and took the note from his leg and he immediately began to preen his feathers.

"They've got an answer!" said Ron excitedly, pointing at the two grubby pieces of parchment.

"What does it say?" Hermione asked breathlessly.

The letters were very short, and looked as though it had been scrawled in a great hurry. They were roughly the same. Harry read his first and then I went:

Angelous Paulo,

I'm flying north immediately. This news about your scars is the latest in a series of strange rumors that have reached me here. If it hurts again, go straight to Dumbledore - they're saying he's got Mad-Eye out of retirement, which means he's reading the signs, even if no one else is.  
I'll be in touch soon. My best to Ron and Hermione. Keep your eyes open. Te amo in infinitum,

Sirius  
P.S. Yes, Dumbledore explained what happened to her at the end of last year before you helped me escape. The both of us are doing as well as can be expected. Your mother loved you bet much and could never have hated you! And the same goes for me! Stay safe!

I blinked furiously as my eyes began to water. I was torn between so many different emotions right now.

"He's flying north?" Hermione whispered. "He's coming back?"

"Dumbledore's reading what signs?" said Ron, looking perplexed. "Harry - Kat - what's up?"

For Harry had just hit himself in the forehead with his fist and I'd stood up and began pacing back and forth.

"We shouldn't've told him!" I said furiously.

"What are you on about?" said Ron in surprise.

"It's made him think he's got to come back!" said Harry, slamming his fist on the table so that Hedwig landed on the back of Ron's chair, hooting indignantly. "Coming back, because he thinks we're in trouble! And there's nothing wrong with me! And I haven't got anything for you," Harry snapped at Hedwig, who was clicking her beak expectantly, "you'll have to go up to the Owlery if you want food."

Hedwig gave him an extremely offended look and took off for the open window, cuffing him around the head with her outstretched wing as she went. I shook my head and went over to Salazar and told him to go follow and make sure Hedwig was alright.

"Harry, Katrina," Hermione began, in a pacifying sort of voice.

"I'm going to bed," I said shortly. "See you in the morning."

I walked out of the portrait hole and back to my room. Once there, I pulled on my pajamas and got into my four-poster, but I didn't feel remotely tired.

If Sirius came back and got caught, it would be my fault. Why hadn't I kept my mouth shut? A few seconds' pain and I'd had to blab...If I'd just had the sense to keep it to myself...

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In-line Comments

\- omg hehe I love how she thinks he's talking about Sirius and he thinks she's talking about Voldemort haha miscommunication is gonna be as present in this book as I can make it

\- ohhh hope you guys liked Mad-Eyes/Crouch's POV! Had a few requests to do it so I tried lol let me know what you thought and if you want me to continue to try and write his perspective or to give it up while I'm behind

\- tried my best with Sirius's letter to add some sentimental stuff but at the same time as you know he's supposed to be in a hurry and writing the bare minimum so wasn't sure how to go about it - hoped it turned out alright.


	14. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang

Katrina's POV

Early next morning, I woke with a plan fully formed in my mind, as though my sleeping brain had been working on it all night. I got up, dressed in the pale dawn light, and fiddled with my hair in the mirror; contemplating what color I was in the mood for today, before heading to my outer-chambers with a piece of parchment and bottle of ink. I curled up in one of the chairs in front of my fireplace and wrote the following letter:

Dear Ada,  
I reckon I just imagined my scar hurting, I was half asleep when I wrote to you last time. There's no point coming back, everything's fine here. Don't worry about me, my head feels completely normal.

Katrina Black (I hope it's okay that I am calling myself that now...I know it's still probably not a good idea to tell people about us but I doubt anyone will make the connection - and I'm really tired of having no last name! Besides, Creepy Eye spilled the beans to the entire class yesterday about V-man trying to kill me along with Beary and showed everyone my scar...so I think everyone will be more focused on THAT then me adding a last name. And if they ask, I'll just say I chose it because it's the color that will hide their blood when I punch them for not minding their own business!)

I sighed as I reread my note. I had meant to make it quick and to the point but there was so much I wanted to tell him after so many years apart and anyone who knows me knows that I ramble - a LOT! I made sure not to mention any names other than mine so what harm could a little nonsense rambling do? I hated knowing my father was out there all on his own with no one to talk to but Buckbeak/mom's lingering spirit. If nothing else, I hoped my lame nicknames would give him something to laugh about. Anyways, I had a feeling Harry was going to write to him as well and him being a boy and all, probably wouldn't make it very long, and if I couldn't be with my father in person, I wanted to put as much of me as I could in the letter; without putting him or anyone else in danger!

I exited my room and walked through the silent castle (stopping only briefly to suggest to Peeves that he overturn a large vase on whoever next passed along the fourth-floor corridor), and finally arrived at the Owlery, which was situated at the top of West Tower.

The Owlery was a circular stone room, rather cold and drafty, because none of the windows had glass in them. The floor was entirely covered in straw, owl droppings, and the regurgitated skeletons of mice and voles. Hundreds upon hundreds of owls of every breed imaginable were nestled here on perches that rose right up to the top of the tower, nearly all of them asleep, though here and there a round amber eye blinked down at me. I spotted Salazar and Hedwig nestled between a barn owl and a tawny, and hurried over to them, sliding a little on the dropping-strewn floor.

Since Hedwig was clearly still upset about last night, I decided to spend some time stroking her feathers and letting her spend some more time with Salazar before I sent him off. The two of them were really close and spent most of their downtime together. I kept telling Salazar to hurry up and make a move but he was as clueless as Harry!

Who speaking of which, had just scared me to death upon his arrival in the Owlery. I had been so caught up in my thoughts I must have missed the sound of his footsteps.

I laughed as I watched him step up to Hedwig only for her to fly away.

"Really, Harry? What'd you expect after the way you shouted at her last night! We females don't like being yelled at for something that isn't our fault, nor do we forgive being treated like that in the span of a few hours; especially without an apology of any kind. Definitely not the best approach," I giggled at the innocently confused and bewildered expression on Harry's face as I coaxed Hedwig back over to him.

"Well then what approach do you suppose I SHOULD take?" I breathed in sharply as Harry suddenly turned around and stepped in close to me. He had that weird look in his eyes again - the one that made my stomach flipflop and my feet tingle. I cleared my throat as I took a step back. He closed the distance once more until my back was up against the wall and I had nowhere else to run.

"So...?" Harry chuckled, tilting his head and waiting for my answer with a glint of humor, genuine curiosity, as well as something else I couldn't identify in his eyes.

I coughed and looked away not sure what to say. How was a gal supposed to think with him standing so close!

"Um...well, ya know...we like honesty! Yeah! That's important and...and...directness - just say what you mean! I mean why can't guys just ever just say what they're really thinking instead of beating around the bush and making everything so complicated! I mean seriously! It's so confusing...you never say what you feel so how are we supposed to know. You say one thing when you mean another and we're just automatically supposed to be there to help fix everything without any thanks! I'm starting to see Hermione's point about the house elves! It's a thankless job for the most part and they just go along with it no questions asked!" I opened my mouth to keep rambling but Harry covered it with his hand.

"Woah, slow down there, Princess!"

I rolled my eyes at the nickname and glared at the hand over my mouth and looked back at him to see his face shifting as he tried to cover his laughter.

I narrowed my eyes at him and waited for him to let his guard down before sticking my tongue out and running it along the length of his palm. I burst out laughing as his eyes became saucers as he instinctively removed his hand.

"Ahhh mannn! The look on your face - priceless!" I was bent over with laughter but managed to tilt my head up to watch him stand there motionlessly - still grasping what I'd just done. I kept laughing and laughing and don't know how long it would have been before I stopped if he hadn't stepped forward again and grabbed hold of my hand. I tried to yank it back but he held on.

"uh uh uh, Princess, it's my turn now - after all; it's only faire!" He grinned mischievously as he raised my hand to his mouth and ever so slowly dragged his tongue across my palm. My legs shook as I struggled to stand up straight and act unaffected and like my insides weren't twisting into a jumbled mess, but could tell he saw right through it. My hand felt like it was on fire by the time he finished and let it drop to my side and I opened and closed my mouth but no words came out.

After what seemed like ages, Harry broke the silence when it became clear that I wasn't going to say anything.

"Isn't directness kind of the same thing as honesty?"

I shook my head and tried to control the turmoil in my mind enough to focus on his question.

"I-I...yeah I guess so...why?"

"Well then that's just one thing that girls like...there's gotta be other stuff too!"

"Well why the hell do you care so much, huh? Tryna find a way to buddy up to that Chang girl?! Don't worry, I'm sure you'll do perfectly fine on your own without any help from me!"

This time it was my own hand that covered my mouth. I can't believe I just said that! Where the hell had that come from! Could I sound any more jealous? And what reason did I even have to be jealous! I didn't like anyone like that yet!...Except maybe Cedric...right? I mean there was no way Harry saw me as more than just a friend anyways! I mean who randomly licks the hand of someone they are crushing on! - Ok yeah maybe I just did that...but that's besides the point! He only did it back as a joke!

I shook my head again to stop my inner rambling and peered up at Harry; using my hair as a semi-mask.

"Well...I don't know about Cho specifically, but yeah, I wanna know more about girls? I mean you and Hermione are really the only two I know and interact with and I always seem to be messing that up!"

I laughed at my best friend's cluelessness while innerly thanking this trait of his as it meant he hadn't noticed my weird behavior.

"What! It's true! Every year something goes wrong!...Why are you laughing!"

I glanced at Harry and laughed some more.

"Oh, come on, Harry! This is you we're talking about! Something is always bound to happen! You're like a drama magnet! I don't think any advice I would have for a normal girl would apply to me and Hermione who have to deal with the fallout of whatever shenanigans you manage to get yourself into!" I smiled at him to let him know I was teasing him and to lessen the sting of my words - because all jokes aside, it was true.

"Hey! You attract just as much; if not more, drama than me, Princess!"

"What can I say, it's part of my charm!" I grinned and slid around him and made my way back towards Hedwig. "Now are we going to stand around all day or get these letters sent off!"

It took him a while to persuade her to look at him, as she kept shuffling around on her perch, showing him her tail. She was evidently still furious about his lack of gratitude the previous night. Harry glared at me as I laughed at him but I couldn't help it. Watching the two of them was hilarious. In the end, it was Harry suggesting she might be too tired, and that perhaps he would ask Ron to borrow Pigwidgeon, that made her stick out her leg and allow him to tie the letter to it.

"Just find him, all right?" Harry said, stroking her back as he carried her on his arm to one of the holes in the wall. "Before the dementors do."

She nipped his finger, perhaps rather harder than she would ordinarily have done, but hooted softly in a reassuring sort of way all the same. Then she spread her wings and took off into the sunrise.

"Now watch how a real pro does it!" I whistled and Salazar flew down to me and immediately stretched his leg out. I quickly attached my letter and off he went.

Harry mock applauded and bowed to me and I shoved him playfully towards the stairs, glad that the awkward moment had officially passed.

*************************************

"That was a lie," said Hermione sharply over breakfast, when Harry and I told her and Ron what we had done. "You didn't imagine your scars hurting and you know it."

"So what?" said Harry. "He's not going back to Azkaban because of me."

"Nor me!" I chimed in, doing my best to keep my head down to avoid all the staring I was receiving.

"Drop it," said Ron sharply to Hermione as she opened her mouth to argue some more, and for once, Hermione heeded him, and fell silent.

I did my best not to worry about my father over the next couple of weeks. True, I could not stop myself from looking anxiously around every morning when the post owls arrived, nor, late at night before I went to sleep, prevent myself from seeing horrible visions of Sirius, cornered by dementors down some dark London street, but betweentimes I tried to keep my mind off my father.

Considering the amount of pointing and staring that followed me everywhere I went now, this wasn't hard to do. What made it worse was Harry's enjoyment of it all!

"It's not funny Harry! They never leave me alone! I can't even go to the bathroom without someone commenting about it!"

"Welcome to my world, Princess!" was all he had to say.

I wished I still had Quidditch to distract me; nothing worked so well on a troubled mind as a good, hard training session. On the other hand, our lessons were becoming more difficult and demanding than ever before, particularly Moody's Defense Against the Dark Arts.

To our surprise, Professor Moody had announced that he would be putting the Imperius Curse on each of us in turn, to demonstrate its power and to see whether we could resist its effects.

"But - but you said it's illegal, Professor," said Hermione uncertainly as Moody cleared away the desks with a sweep of his wand, leaving a large clear space in the middle of the room. "You said - to use it against another human was -"

"Dumbledore wants you taught what it feels like," said Moody, his magical eye swiveling onto Hermione and fixing her with an eerie, unblinking stare. "If you'd rather learn the hard way - when someone's putting it on you so they can control you completely - fine by me. You're excused. Off you go."

I glanced at Harry as he Moody said this, remembering back to second year when Voldemort had done exactly that. I couldn't help but tremble at the thought of going through that again. Harry pulled me in close and wrapped his arm around me protectively as Moody pointed one gnarled finger toward the door. Hermione went very pink and muttered something about not meaning that she wanted to leave. Harry, Ron, and I grinned at each other. We knew Hermione would rather eat bubotuber pus than miss such an important lesson.

Moody began to beckon students forward in turn and put the Imperius Curse upon them. I watched as, one by one, my classmates did the most extraordinary things under its influence. Dean Thomas hopped three times around the room, singing the national anthem. Lavender Brown imitated a squirrel. Neville performed a series of quite astonishing gymnastics he would certainly not have been capable of in his normal state. Not one of them seemed to be able to fight off the curse, and each of them recovered only when Moody had removed it.

"Katrina," Moody growled, "you next."

I shook my head uncomfortably. "Please, Professor, I already know what it feels like to be under the curse, you can just move onto the next person!" I pleaded, knowing it was a lost cause.

"Having the curse used on you is one thing, you NEED to learn to fight it! I will let you and Potter go together if it makes you feel better."

I groaned but gritted my teeth as Harry and I moved forward into the middle of the classroom, into the space that Moody had cleared of desks. Moody raised his wand, pointed it at Harry and I, and said, "Imperio!"

I felt a familiar floating sensation as every thought and worry in my head was wiped gently away, leaving nothing but a vague, untraceable happiness. I stood there feeling immensely relaxed, only dimly aware of everyone watching Harry and I.

And then I heard Mad-Eye Moody's voice, echoing in some distant chamber of my empty brain: "Jump onto the desk...jump onto the desk..."

Out of the corner of my eye, I was vaguely aware of Harry bending his knees obediently, preparing to spring but I just stood there glaring at Moody. I didn't want to do anything that he wanted me to do right now.

"Jump onto the desk...."

"No..."

"Jump onto the desk...."

"No, I don't think I will, thanks, I don't really want to...."

"Jump! NOW!"

"NO!" I shouted out loud, refusing to move. There was a loud crashing sound and I blinked rapidly as I came back to my senses.

Harry had both jumped and tried to prevent himself from jumping - the result was that he'd smashed headlong into the desk knocking it over.

"Now, that's more like it!" growled Moody's voice. "Look at that, you lot...Potter and Katrina fought! They fought it, and damn near beat it! We'll try that again, Potter, Katrina, and the rest of you, pay attention - watch their eyes, that's where you see it - very good, very good indeed! They'll have trouble controlling you two!" I frowned. I HAD beaten it so why did he need to include me in his stupid demonstrations! I glared at Moody as he raised his wand again.

*************************************

"The way he talks," Harry muttered as he hobbled out of the Defense Against the Dark Arts class an hour later (Moody had insisted on putting us through our paces four times in a row, until Harry could throw off the curse entirely like me), "you'd think we were all going to be attacked any second."

I nodded my head in agreement at Moody's crazyness. I was just pleased that not once had I felt the urge to follow any of his orders. I didn't know why, but there was not nearly as much force behind the commands as there had been with Tom Riddle's. Whatever the reason, I was just happy I hadn't been at Moody's mercy like with Tom. I never wanted to feel that again!

"Yeah, I know," said Ron, who was skipping on every alternate step. He had had much more difficulty with the curse than Harry, though Moody assured him the effects would wear off by lunchtime. "Talk about paranoid..." Ron glanced nervously over his shoulder to check that Moody was definitely out of earshot and went on. "No wonder they were glad to get shot of him at the Ministry. Did you hear him telling Seamus what he did to that witch who shouted 'Boo' behind him on April Fools' Day? And when are we supposed to read up on resisting the Imperius Curse with everything else we've got to do?"

All us fourth years had noticed a definite increase in the amount of work we were required to do this term. Professor McGonagall explained why, when the class gave a particularly loud groan at the amount of Transfiguration homework she had assigned.

"You are now entering a most important phase of your magical education!" she told us, her eyes glinting dangerously behind her square spectacles. "Your Ordinary Wizarding Levels are drawing closer -"

"We don't take O.W.L.s till fifth year!" said Dean Thomas indignantly.

"Maybe not, Thomas, but believe me, you need all the preparation you can get! Miss Granger and Katrina remain the only two students in this class who have managed to turn a hedgehog into a satisfactory pincushion. I might remind you that your pincushion, Thomas, still curls up in fright if anyone approaches it with a pin!"

Hermione, who had turned rather pink again, seemed to be trying not to look too pleased with herself. I on the other hand, burrowed my face into my hands in embarrassment. I really didn't need any more attention on me!

Meanwhile Professor Binns, the ghost who taught History of Magic, had us writing weekly essays on the goblin rebellions of the eighteenth century. Sev was forcing us to research antidotes. We all took this one seriously, as he had hinted that he might be poisoning one of us before Christmas to see if our antidote worked. Professor Flitwick had asked us to read three extra books in preparation for our lesson on Summoning Charms.

Even Hagrid was adding to our workload. The Blast-Ended Skrewts were growing at a remarkable pace given that nobody had yet discovered what they ate. Hagrid was delighted, and as part of our "project," suggested that we come down to his hut on alternate evenings to observe the skrewts and make notes on their extraordinary behavior.

"I will not," said Draco flatly when Hagrid had proposed this with the air of Father Christmas pulling an extra-large toy out of his sack. "I see enough of these foul things during lessons, thanks."

Hagrid's smile faded off his face.

"Yeh'll do wha' yer told," he growled, "or I'll be takin' a leaf outta Professor Moody's book....I hear yeh made a good ferret, Malfoy."

The Gryffindors roared with laughter, myself included. Draco flushed with anger, but apparently the memory of Moody's punishment was still sufficiently painful to stop him from retorting. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I returned to the castle at the end of the lesson in high spirits; seeing Hagrid put down Draco was particularly satisfying, especially because Draco had done his very best to get Hagrid sacked the previous year.

When we arrived in the entrance hall, we found ourselves unable to proceed owing to the large crowd of students congregated there, all milling around a large sign that had been erected at the foot of the marble staircase. Ron, the tallest of us four, stood on tiptoe to see over the heads in front of us and read the sign aloud to us:

TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT  
THE DELEGATIONS FROM BEAUXBATONS AND DURMSTRANG WILL BE ARRIVING AT 6 O'CLOCK ON FRIDAY THE 30TH OF OCTOBER. LESSONS WILL END HALF AN HOUR EARLY-  
"Brilliant!" said Harry. "It's Potions last thing on Friday! Snape won't have time to poison us all!"

STUDENTS WILL RETURN THEIR BAGS AND BOOKS TO THEIR DORMITORIES AND ASSEMBLE IN FRONT OF THE CASTLE TO GREET OUR GUESTS BEFORE THE WELCOMING FEAST.  
"Only a week away!" said Ernie Macmillan of Hufflepuff, emerging from the crowd, his eyes gleaming. "I wonder if Cedric knows? Think I'll go and tell him...."

"Cedric?" said Ron blankly as Ernie hurried off (not realizing that Cedric was already in the room near the staircase).

"Diggory," said Harry. "He must be entering the tournament."

"That idiot, Hogwarts champion?" said Ron as we pushed our way through the chattering crowd toward the staircase.

"He's not an idiot. You just don't like him because he beat Gryffindor at Quidditch," I said angrily. "He's a really good student - and he's a prefect...and he has been nothing but nice to me since day one - which if I might remind you, was when he saved my life!"

"You only like him because he's handsome," said Ron scathingly.

"Excuse me, I don't like people just because they're handsome!" I said indignantly.

Ron gave a loud false cough, which sounded oddly like "Lockhart!"

"Are you kidding me right now? I never liked Lockhart one bit! THAT was Hermione, Ron! I know us girls seem all the same to you - but if you are going to accuse someone of something, maybe, I don't know...how about you make sure you know what the hell you are talking about!" By this point I was shouting furiously. I could feel the dark energy within me swelling to the surface, begging to be let loose and was so incredibly tempted to just let it this time; but the image of burning bodies and the terrified faces of the girls at the orphanage flashed across my eyes and I clenched my hands into fists and did my best to quell the burning energy inside me. I turned around, ignoring the shocked faces of Harry, Hermione, and everyone else in the room (which included the twins, Percy, Draco, and about 50 other students of various houses and years) intent on heading back to my room to stew, when I decided I had one last thing to say and spun back around and marched up to Ron.

"Did you ever think that maybe I like Cedric simply because he.is.a.genuinely.nice.guy? He actually talks to me for the sake of getting to know ME! Not just to get help on some bloody homework assignment that you were too damn lazy to do on your own! Explain to me this, Ron. When have you EVER talked to me about something other than your homework or when Hermione or Harry was around? Hmmm, lemme think...oh right, NEVER! But you don't see me making unfounded accusations about you and your love life - or lack thereof! Considering I spent almost the entire summer with you and you didn't make any effort to talk to ME, how the hex would you know anything about me or what I like? I've spent less time with all of your brothers combined than I have with you and I would still say that they know me better than you! So don't you dare stand there and comment on who I like or don't like when you really don't know anything about me!" I huffed and turned on my heel to storm out of the room but before I had gotten more then a few steps, I collided with something hard. I looked up and felt my face redden as I met Cedric's eyes.

"Come on, Princess, let's get out of here," he said. Though his voice and grip on my hand was gentle and held nothing but kindness, I could see his eyes shooting daggers over my shoulder at Ron. I glanced at Harry and Hermione and sent them a quick apologetic look before letting Cedric lead me up the staircase.

"I'm so sorry about Ron! He can be a bloody idiot sometimes and doesn't think things out before he says them."

"It's ok, Princess, I don't care what your friends think about me, just your opinion. And for the record, you are most definitely not like other girls and that friend of your's is crazy to mix you and Hermione up."

I blushed at his kind words. "You'd be surprised how many people get us confused! Well until the other day when Creepy Eye revealed my secret! Now I can't go anywhere or do anything without people commenting! I honestly don't know how you and Harry deal with it! My skin is always crawling with the sensation of being watched! Gahhhh!"

"Well most people don't have the pleasure of talking to you...as I think you mentioned just now. You definitely got your point across, Princess! Anyways, your friends are lucky to have you in their lives - I, for one, would be thrilled to have you in mine and would never take advantage of your companionship! and Creepy Eye? Hah! I like it!"

I looked at Cedric with wide eyes. "What do you mean 'would be'! I thought I already was?" a horrible thought came to me. "or are we not friends yet? I mean, I thought we were by now and with all the time we spent together last year, but I'm still relatively new to this whole 'friendship' concept so if I got it wrong then I'm really sorry!"

Cedric looked horrified at my words and I felt a sense of dread as I waited for his response.

"Of course I consider you as a...a...friend! How could you even doubt that! I just wasn't entirely sure if...if you felt the same way!"

"Oh!...Oh, okay...um I guess that clears that up then?" I squeaked out, too scared to admit that I may or may not like him as a little more than a friend. I mean Ron DID have a point - he was HANDSOME! I had seen more than half the female population at this school try to win him over and he turned them all down...I didnt't want to ruin what friendship we did have based on some silly notion that maybe I was different. I mean how many of those girls had probably thought the exact same thing!

So I kept my mouth shut as we walked back to my room and when we sat by the fireplace working on homework together, I did my very best not to notice how the flames lit up his face and made his eyes sparkle.

*************************************  
Harry's POV

"You really are an idiot sometimes Ron!" Hermione said slowly as we watched Kat's back disappear up the staircase.

I opened my mouth to tell Ron to go apologize but Fred and George came over and beat me to it.

"Hey Freddy?"

"Yes, Georgy?"

"Am I right to assume that I speak for the entire Weasley clan - except maybe Percy - when I tell our little brother that he is the biggest git I've ever known?"

"Yes, George, I think you'd be quite right about that. Bill and Charlie would be ashamed. Is what she said true, Ron? You've spent the last 3 or so years with her and never ONCE talked to her about anything other than homework or whatever mystery you were solving?"

Ron nodded meekly as I thought back and came to the same conclusion myself. Wow, how had I never noticed that before?

"Well, little bro," said George.

"You better fix this," said Fred.

"Before it gets any worse," said George.

"As much as we like to mess with our friends,"

"we would NEVER treat them the way you have, I mean...I know you're clueless about girls, but come on, Ronnie! Surely we've taught you better than this!"

Ron looked down at the floor and I could tell he genuinely felt bad. It was clear that none of us had noticed what Kat had and I shook my head annoyed with myself. This is what I meant! I was always messing up when it came to her! I was always watching from the sidelines as she got hurt one way or the other! It really needed to stop! Ron was one of my best friends and I had completely missed the fact that he had never spent any alone time with Kat or never really talked about anything other than homework or our adventures! I really needed to step up and do a better job of being Kat's...friend.

*************************************  
Katrina's POV

The appearance of the sign in the entrance hall had a marked effect upon the inhabitants of the castle. During the following week, there seemed to be only one topic of conversation, no matter where I went: the Triwizard Tournament. Rumors were flying from student to student like highly contagious germs: who was going to try for Hogwarts champion, what the tournament would involve, how the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang differed from themselves.

I noticed too that the castle seemed to be undergoing an extra-thorough cleaning. Several grimy portraits had been scrubbed, much to the displeasure of their subjects, who sat huddled in their frames muttering darkly and wincing as they felt their raw pink faces. The suits of armor were suddenly gleaming and moving without squeaking, and Argus Filch, the caretaker, was behaving so ferociously to any students who forgot to wipe their shoes that he terrified a pair of first-year girls into hysterics.

Other members of the staff seemed oddly tense too.

"Longbottom, kindly do not reveal that you can't even perform a simple Switching Spell in front of anyone from Durmstrang!" Professor McGonagall barked at the end of one particularly difficult lesson, during which Neville had accidentally transplanted his own ears onto a cactus.

When we went down to breakfast on the morning of the thirtieth of October, we found that the Great Hall had been decorated overnight. Enormous silk banners hung from the walls, each of them representing a Hogwarts House: red with a gold lion for Gryffiindor, blue with a bronze eagle for Ravenclaw, yellow with a black badger for Hufflepuff, and green with a silver serpent for Slytherin. Behind the teachers' table, the largest banner of all bore the Hogwarts coat of arms: lion, eagle, badger, and snake united around a large letter H.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat down across Fred and George and I sat down between them, trying to maintain my distance from Ron. Once again, and most unusually, the twins were sitting apart from everyone else and conversing in low voices.

"It's a bummer, all right," George was saying gloomily to Fred as I squeezed in between them. But if he won't talk to us in person, we'll have to send him the letter after all. Or we'll stuff it into his hand. He can't avoid us forrever."

"Who's avoiding you?" said Ron, sitting down.

"Wish you would," said Fred, looking irritated at the interruption.

"What's a bummer?" Ron asked George.

"Having a nosy and disrespectful git like you for a brother," said George.

"You two got any ideas on the Triwizard Tournament yet?" Harry asked trying to break up the tension between the brothers. "Thought any more about trying to enter?"

"I asked McGonagall how the champions are chosen but she wasn't telling," said George bitterly. "She just told me to shut up and get on with transfiguring my raccoon."

"Wonder what the tasks are going to be?" said Ron thoughtfully. "You know, I bet we could do them, Harry. We've done dangerous stuff before...."

"Not in front of a panel of judges, you haven't," said Fred. "McGonagall says the champions get awarded points according to how well they've done the tasks."

"Who are the judges?" Harry asked.

"Well, the Heads of the participating schools are always on the panel," said Hermione, and everyone looked around at her, rather surprised, "because all three of them were injured during the Tournament of 1792, when a cockatrice the champions were supposed to be catching went on the rampage."

She noticed the boys all looking at her and said, with a sigh, "It's all in Hogwarts, A History. Though, of course, that book's not entirely reliable. A Revised History of Hogwarts would be a more accurate title. Or A Highly Biased and Selective History of Hogwarts, Which Glosses Over the Nastier Aspects of the School."

"What are you on about?" said Ron, though I thought I knew what was coming.

"House-elves!" said Hermione, her eyes flashing. "Not once, in over a thousand pages, does Hogwarts, A History mention that we are all colluding in the oppression of a hundred slaves!"

I shook my head and focused on eating. I was having enough friendship problems as is and didn't want to stir up any new ones.

Ron now rolled his eyes at the ceiling, which was flooding them all in autumn sunlight, and Fred became extremely interested in his bacon (George, however, leaned in toward Hermione.)

"Listen, have you ever been down in the kitchens, Hermione?"

"No, of course not," said Hermione curtly, "I hardly think students are supposed to -"

"Well, we have," said George, indicating Fred, "loads of times, to nick food. And we've met them, and they're happy. They think they've got the best job in the world -"

"That's because they're uneducated and brainwashed!" Hermione began hotly, but her next few words were drowned out by the sudden whooshing noise from overhead, which announced the arrival of the post owls. I looked up at once, and saw Hedwig and Salazar soaring toward Harry and I. Hermione stopped talking abruptly; she and Ron watched Hedwig and Salazar anxiously as they both fluttered down onto Harry's and my shoulders, folded their wings, and held out their legs wearily.

I pulled off Sirius's reply and offered Salazar my bacon rinds, which he ate gratefully. Then, checking that Fred and George were safely immersed in further discussions about the Triwizard Tournament, I read out my father's letter in a whisper to Ron and Hermione after Harry read his.

Nice try, my Angelous Paulo,

I'm back in the country and well hidden. I want you to keep me posted on everything that's going on at Hogwarts. Don't use Salazar, keep changing owls, and don't worry about me, just watch out for yourself Don't forget what I said about your scars.

S  
P.S. I would be honored for you to take my last name. Your last comment made me laugh harder then I have in years. I almost forgot how feisty you could be! I'm sorry to hear about your secret being revealed but I have no doubt that you will be strong enough to handle anything that comes your way.

"Why d'you have to keep changing owls?" Ron asked in a low voice. I ignored him and let Hermione answer. I was not going to talk to Ron until the idiot decided to grow a pair and just apologize and make an effort to get to know me. It wasn't like I was asking for much! But it had been a whole week and no response.

"Hedwig and Salazar will attract too much attention," said Hermione at once. "They stand out. A snowy white and pitch black owl that keep returning to wherever he's hiding...I mean, they're not native birds, are they?"

I rolled up the letter and slipped it inside my robes, wondering whether I felt more or less worried than before. I supposed that Sirius managing to get back without being caught was something. I couldn't deny either that the idea that my father was much nearer was reassuring; at least I wouldn't have to wait so long for a response every time I wrote.

"Thanks, Salazar," I said, stroking his feathers. He hooted sleepily, dipped his beak briefly into my goblet of orange juice, then took off again, clearly desperate for a good long sleep in the Owlery.

There was a pleasant feeling of anticipation in the air that day. Nobody was very attentive in lessons, being much more interested in the arrival that evening of the people from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang; even Potions was more bearable than usual, as it was half an hour shorter. When the bell rang early, Harry, Ron, Hermione and I hurried up to Gryffindor Tower, deposited our bags and books as we had been instructed (well I snapped my fingers and sent mine to my room), pulled on our cloaks, and rushed back downstairs into the entrance hall.

The Heads of Houses were ordering their students into lines. I stood out to the side and watched, unsure of where to go.

"Weasley, straighten your hat," Minnie snapped at Ron. "Miss Patil, take that ridiculous thing out of your hair."

Parvati scowled and removed a large ornamental butterfly from the end of her plait.

"Follow me, please," said Minnie. "First years in front...no pushing...." She met  
my eyes and motioned for me to come join her at the front of the line so I did so.

We filed down the steps and lined up in front of the castle. It was a cold, clear evening; dusk was falling and a pale, transparent-looking moon was already shining over the Forbidden Forest.

"Nearly six," I heard Ron say as he checked his watch and then stared down the drive that led to the front gates. I rolled my eyes. Thanks for pointing out the obvious as usual,  
Ron, I thought to myself. "How d'you reckon they're coming? The train?"

"I doubt it," said Hermione.

"How, then? Broomsticks?" Harry suggested, looking up at the starry sky.

"I don't think so...not from that far away...."

"A Portkey?" Ron suggested. "Or they could Apparate - maybe you're allowed to do it under seventeen wherever they come from?"

"You can't Apparate inside the Hogwarts grounds, how often do Kat and I have to tell you?" said Hermione impatiently.

We scanned the darkening grounds excitedly, but nothing was moving; everything was still, silent, and quite as usual. I was starting to feel cold. I wished they'd hurry up....Maybe the foreign students were preparing a dramatic entrance...I remembered what Mr. Weasley had said back at the campsite before the Quidditch World Cup: "always the same - we can't resist showing off when we get together...."

And then Grandfather called out from the back row where he stood with the other teachers -

"Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!"

"Where?" said many students eagerly, all looking in different directions.

"There!" yelled a sixth year, pointing over the forest.

Something large, much larger than a broomstick - or, indeed, a hundred broomsticks - was hurtling across the deep blue sky toward the castle, growing larger all the time.

"It's a dragon!" shrieked one of the first years, losing her head completely.

"Don't be stupid...it's a flying house!" said Dennis Creevey.

Dennis's guess was closer....As the gigantic black shape skimmed over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest and the lights shining from the castle windows hit it, we saw a gigantic, powderblue, horse-drawn carriage, the size of a large house, soaring toward us, pulled through the air by a dozen winged horses, all palominos, and each the size of an elephant.

The front three rows of students drew backward as the carriage hurtled ever lower, coming in to land at a tremendous speed - then, with an almighty crash that made Neville jump backward onto a Slytherin fifth year's foot, the horses' hooves, larger than dinner plates, hit the ground. A second later, the carriage landed too, bouncing upon its vast wheels, while the golden horses tossed their enormous heads and rolled large, fiery red eyes.

I just had time to see that the door of the carriage bore a coat of arms (two crossed, golden wands, each emitting three stars) before it opened.

A boy in pale blue robes jumped down from the carriage, bent forward, fumbled for a moment with something on the carriage floor, and unfolded a set of golden steps. He sprang back respectfully. Then I saw a shining, high-heeled black shoe emerging from the inside of the carriage - a shoe the size of a child's sled - followed, almost immediately, by the largest woman I had ever seen in my life. The size of the carriage, and of the horses, was immediately explained. A few people gasped.

I had only ever seen one person as large as this woman in his life, and that was Hagrid; I doubted whether there was an inch difference in their heights. Yet somehow - maybe simply because I was used to Hagrid - this woman (now at the foot of the steps, and looking around at the waiting, wide-eyed crowd) seemed even more unnaturally large. As she stepped into the light flooding from the entrance hall, she was revealed to have a handsome, olive-skinned face; large, black, liquid-looking eyes; and a rather beaky nose. Her hair was drawn back in a shining knob at the base of her neck. She was dressed from head to foot in black satin, and many magnificent opals gleamed at her throat and on her thick fingers.

Dumbledore started to clap; the students, following his lead, broke into applause too, many of them standing on tiptoe, the better to look at this woman.

Her face relaxed into a gracious smile and she walked forward toward my grandfather, extending a glittering hand. Dumbledore, though tall himself, had barely to bend to kiss it.

"My dear Madame Maxime," he said. "Welcome to Hogwarts."

"Dumbly-dort," said Madame Maxime in a deep voice. "I 'ope I find you well?"

"In excellent form, I thank you," said Dumbledore.

"My pupils," said Madame Maxime, waving one of her enormous hands carelessly behind her.

My attention had been so focused upon Madame Maxime, that I hadn't noticed that about a dozen boys and girls, all, by the look of them, in their late teens, had emerged from the carriage and were now standing behind Madame Maxime. They were shivering, which was unsurprising, given that their robes seemed to be made of fine silk, and none of them were wearing cloaks. A few had wrapped scarves and shawls around their heads. From what I could see of them (they were standing in Madame Maxime's enormous shadow), they were staring up at Hogwarts with apprehensive looks on their faces.

"As Karkaroff arrived yet?" Madame Maxime asked.

"He should be here any moment," said Dumbledore. "Would you like to wait here and greet him or would you prefer to step inside and warm up a trifle?"

"Warm up, I think," said Madame Maxime. "But ze 'orses -"

"Our Care of Magical Creatures teacher will be delighted to take care of them," said Dumbledore, "the moment he has returned from dealing with a slight situation that has arisen with some of his other - er - charges."

"Skrewts," Ron muttered to Harry, grinning.

"My steeds require - er - forceful 'andling," said Madame Maxime, looking as though she doubted whether any Care of Magical Creatures teacher at Hogwarts could be up to the job. "Zey are very strong...."

"I assure you that Hagrid will be well up to the job," said Dumbledore, smiling.

"Very well," said Madame Maxime, bowing slightly. "Will you please inform zis 'Agrid zat ze 'orses drink only single-malt whiskey?"

"It will be attended to," said Dumbledore, also bowing.

"Come," said Madame Maxime imperiously to her students, and the Hogwarts crowd parted to allow her and her students to pass up the stone steps.

"How big d'you reckon Durmstrang's horses are going to be?" Seamus Finnigan said, leaning around Lavender and Parvati to address Harry and Ron.

"Well, if they're any bigger than this lot, even Hagrid won't be able to handle them," said Harry. "That's if he hasn't been attacked by his skrewts. Wonder what's up with them?"

"Maybe they've escaped," said Ron hopefully.

"Oh don't say that," said Hermione with a shudder. "Imagine that lot loose on the grounds...."

They stood, shivering slightly now, waiting for the Durmstrang party to arrive. Most people were gazing hopefully up at the sky.

For a few minutes, the silence was broken only by Madame Maxime's huge horses snorting and stamping. But then -

"Can you hear something?" said a random second year suddenly.

I listened; a loud and oddly eerie noise was drifting toward us from out of the darkness: a muffled rumbling and sucking sound, as though an immense vacuum cleaner were moving along a riverbed....

"The lake!" yelled Lee Jordan, pointing down at it. "Look at the lake!"

From our position at the top of the lawns overlooking the grounds, we had a clear view of the smooth black surface of the water - except that the surface was suddenly not smooth at all. Some disturbance was taking place deep in the center; great bubbles were forming on the surface, waves were now washing over the muddy banks -and then, out in the very middle of the lake, a whirlpool appeared, as if a giant plug had just been pulled out of the lake's floor....

What seemed to be a long, black pole began to rise slowly out of the heart of the whirlpool...and then I saw the rigging....

"It's a mast!" I said to Harry and Hermione.

Slowly, magnificently, the ship rose out of the water, gleaming in the moonlight. It had a strangely skeletal look about it, as though it were a resurrected wreck, and the dim, misty lights shimmering at its portholes looked like ghostly eyes. Finally, with a great sloshing noise, the ship emerged entirely, bobbing on the turbulent water, and began to glide toward the bank. A few moments later, we heard the splash of an anchor being thrown down in the shallows, and the thud of a plank being lowered onto the bank.

People were disembarking; we could see their silhouettes passing the lights in the ship's portholes. All of them, I noticed, seemed to be built along the lines of Crabbe and Goyle...but then, as they drew nearer, walking up the lawns into the light streaming from the entrance hall, I saw that their bulk was really due to the fact that they were wearing cloaks of some kind of shaggy, matted fur. But the man who was leading them up to the castle was wearing furs of a different sort: sleek and silver, like his hair. I shivered as I looked at him, and not because of the weather.

"Dumbledore!" he called heartily as he walked up the slope. "How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?"

"Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff," Grandfather replied. Karkaroff had a fruity, unctuous voice; when he stepped into the light pouring from the front doors of the castle we saw that he was tall and thin like Dumbledore, but his white hair was short, and his goatee (finishing in a small curl) did not entirely hide his rather weak chin. When he reached my grandfather, he shook hands with both of his own.

"Dear old Hogwarts," he said, looking up at the castle and smiling; his teeth were rather yellow, and I noticed that his smile did not extend to his eyes, which remained cold and shrewd. I narrowed my eyes, instantly not liking this man. "How good it is to be here, how good....Viktor, come along, into the warmth...you don't mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold..."

Karkaroff beckoned forward one of his students. As the boy passed, I caught a glimpse of a prominent curved nose and thick black eyebrows. I didn't need to see the punch on the arm Ron gave Harry, or to hear the hiss in my friend's ear, to recognize that profile.

"- it's Krum!"

************************************  
In-line Comments

\- If anyone gets the Ada reference bonus points!  
\- what do you think of the nicknames? not so good with nicknames usually which is why I dont try often but it just got written accidentally so decided to go with it  
\- yes the letter is kinda long and rambling but i figured it gave more insight to her character through her own words/Sirius is all on his own so i'm sure he doesnt mind the extra reading material  
\- for those less focused when reading; Harry is the next person that Peeves sees and in the book he has to dodge out of the way   
\- hadnt planned on it but her words to Harry about Hedwig and girls totally foreshadows her argument with Ron - even when im not trying to be awesome im awesome :p  
\- hehe hope the whole hand licking thing didnt seem to weird or something ive just totally done that to ppl when they put their hand over my mouth - if someone does so its either getting bitten or licked lol whatever i think theyll like the least  
\- Moody's imperius curse is having little effect on her because she is starting to embrace her powers/getting better at legilimancy/voldemort obviously has more power/the whole "he's her father" and fathers have influence on their daughters - though she doesn't realize it but he's also subtly encouraging her dark side to come out hence why she will be having  
more of a temper (that and shes just getting older/puberty yada yada) so he IS having an effect just not in the way she thinks  
\- oh gawddd i just used the word sparkle in the same sentence as cedric (aka robert pattenson) kill me now! it was not on purpose  
\- ugh Ron being cclueless sorry it kinda just typed itself and I wanted to make an extra long chapter since its been so long since ive posted so let me know if it was too much or if you liked it  
\- does anyone else notice how none of Maxime's boy students made it into the film? or did i completely miss that?


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